Chapter Text
Boyish giggles filled Pedri’s apartment. The sound of game controllers being abused, the salty scent of half-eaten pizzas, the atmosphere so painfully teenage boy. The two might play for one of the biggest teams in Europe, a fact they were all too aware of, the pressure forever weighing down on them, but that’s what they were– teenage boys. And they allowed, had to allow themselves moments like this to decompress, relax. Enjoy each other’s company, free of scrutiny from other players, managers, the media. And so, they sat on opposite ends of Pedri’s sofa, leaving plenty of elbow room for jerking arms, and continued playing.
Gavi, the golden boy, explosive and fiery on the pitch, explosive and fiery off the pitch. His untied boots may have been kicked off, may have been chucked carelessly into his training bag, but his attitude persisted. When Pedri won a game, they were his games after all, Gavi would slam the controller onto the sofa they were sat on, throwing his arms up and his head back in defeat. It never failed to make Pedri burst into a fit of laughter, which would only heighten Gavi’s rage. The constant intensity could be grating at times, but to Pedri it was just another endearing aspect of Gavi, another part for him to love. Plus, it was nothing a playful shove and a rematch couldn’t fix.
After a while, the two began to tire, their fingers sore from rapid movements and brains frazzled from trying to keep up with the fast paced graphics. Pedri switched off his television, settling back down on the sofa, albeit far closer to the Sevillian than he had originally been. This was their usual routine. Throughout the duration of the night, they would shuffle closer to each other, neither mentioning what was happening, both just accepting it. There were no surprises or protests when Gavi grabbed a nearby blanket to cover their legs, edging further still towards Pedri until their legs and arms were squished against each other.
Every time it happened, every time their skin brushed, Pedri would feel the warm buzz of affection flow through him. And maybe it was more than he would ever dare to admit, the love he held for his best friend. He knew he shouldn't have to fight back the urge to press a kiss to the top of Gavi's head when he leant on the Canarian's chest, push away the horrifying thought of wanting to tip his chin up, press a kiss to Gavi's lips.
But it was okay. Pedri was okay having nothing more, as long as Gavi was by his side, he was happy with anything the younger would give him. And right then, it was just leaning against one another - as always - talking about nothing.
The gentle lull of mindless conversation swayed through the air. They exchanged words without thought, knowing the other would understand the incoherent babbling bound to spill out their mouths.
“Sometimes I wonder why you choose to spend your Friday nights in with me, Pablito,” Pedri mused, half to himself, half to Gavi. The thought was not foreign, playing in his mind more frequently than he would like. Pedri knew that Ferran, Ansu Fati, and Balde were all out for the night in the nearby town, and he knew Gavi was aware of this also, as the pair had been invited. Gavi had stayed quiet, brown eyes trained on Pedri as the older boy graciously turned down the offer, 'I don’t want to do anything stupid and end up hurting my leg more.' It was only after Pedri confirmed his absence through that flimsy excuse that Gavi also declined, saying that he would stay home and help Pedri with his physio exercises. He was flattered, really, but someone like Gavi should be out with his other friends, in clubs or bars. Not holed up with someone that he spends the rest of his waking hours with.
“Why, do you not want me here? I can leave if you-”
Pedri cut him off. “Be quiet silly. Of course I want you here, I always do. I just don’t want to take up all your time.” His hand reaches up, ruffling Gavi’s soft curls. Pedri is honest, perhaps too honest, as his chest tightened in the smallest way as he found himself revealing months’ worth of feelings and worries, more than he intended to. So, he covered his tracks, attempting to lighten the peaceful atmosphere they had created, “I know girls in the clubs would be pissed if they knew I was stealing you form them.” His joke fell flat, Gavi blatantly missing the attempt at humour.
“Don’t care about girls in clubs,” Gavi replied, shrugging nonchalant shoulders, sounding neither upset nor annoyed. Neutral. Like it was a basic fact of life. He wouldn’t tie his shoelaces. He and Pedri spent all their time together. He didn’t care about girls in clubs. Obvious.
Pedri wasn’t prepared for Gavi’s response, taken aback by his unabashed openness. He wasn’t entirely sure what the younger’s answer fully entailed. Didn’t know what it meant about their friendship, and not wanting to open the can of worms Gavi had thrust directly under his nose, Pedri opted to continue on the trajectory from his previous statement. “Yeah, but it’s cruel to deny them of the Golden Boy.” Pedri wiggled his eyebrows crudely, smooching the air in mockery, before chuckling to himself. His laughter increased tenfold when he saw the perturbed look on Gavi’s face.
“You’re right actually, maybe I should get out of here while I still can. You’re insane Pedro,” but Gavi’s crooked grin betrays his attempted deadpan comment. It didn’t take long before the sound of Gavi’s laugh joined Pedri’s, bouncing off the walls in Pedri’s home and Gavi’s second home.
“Do you reckon you could just say ‘I’m Pablo Gavi, Golden Boy, drop your pants and they would?” Pedri was clearly taking this piss, poking fun at Gavi while choking on his own laughter. Yet the Sevillian paused, furrowed brows and thoughtful eyes indicating he was genuinely thinking about what the Canarian had said.
“I don’t know, I haven’t tried that approach.” And a second later, “maybe that’s where I’m going wrong.”
Now it was the older boy’s turn to pause, try and wrap his head around what the younger had just said. What did he mean where he was going wrong. “What do you mean you’re going wrong?” That should clear things up.
“I haven’t kissed anyone.”
Gavi’s admission hung in the air between them.
Pedri could do nothing but stare in confusion at his friend. His beautiful friend with the silkiest hair, curls that slipped effortlessly through his fingers, big, pretty, hazel eyes, a smile that turned Pedri’s heart to mush when he had been the cause of it. Toned muscles etched into almost every crevice of his body – almost – because Gavi still retained a certain youthful softness to him, something that made him warm, comforting… The older boy quashed his unvoiced protests.
Pedri tried to reason with himself, subdue the initial shock he felt at the statement. When would Gavi have had the time to kiss anyone? Unlike the older boy, Gavi went through La Masia. He was not granted the same freedom Pedri had in his teenage years, the freedom to splurge, let himself enjoy warm summer nights with a pretty stranger’s arms thrown carelessly over his neck. Come to think of it, Pedri wasn’t even sure Gavi had even had the warm buzz of alcohol dribble down his throat – the substance making first encounters ever less awkward and ever more enjoyable. Pedri felt drunk just sitting in Gavi’s presence.
“What, not even a little peck?” He goaded, searching for a crack, an inconsistency in what Gavi was trying to sell him. Because it just wasn’t believable.
“I mean, at a school dance when I was eight?” His voice lifted at the end of his sentence, as if he didn’t believe the event even really happened. Pedri knew Gavi was being truthful, knew by the tone of voice and the way his features morphed; knew him inside out. It was all he could manage to let out a half hearted breath of a laugh and shake his head. So Gavi really hadn’t kissed anyone. The thought sent a shiver of anticipation, hope, thrill, down Pedri’s spine.
Still unconvinced, Pedri searched his own memories, found a gem. The team had gone out several days ago, celebrating a win. He points an accusing finger at his best friend, exclaiming, “But you told Ferran that girl in the bar last week gave you head!” Triumph, he thought. Though it was a Pyric victory; the idea of Gavi being entangled with a random girl, being touched by a random girl when Pedri was right there, leaving a bitter, sour taste in his mouth.
“And you believed that?” Gavi sounded scandalised, appalled that Pedri could even begin to entertain the thought of the two having a life outside each other. “I don’t want the team thinking I’m a pussy.” When Pedri cocked a questioning eyebrow, Gavi continued his rambling. “She dragged me to the to the toilets and tried to like kiss me, but I pushed her away and then she left, so that was it. Kinda embarrassing.” He scratched the back of his head, eyes averting themselves from Pedri’s piercing stare.
“Was she pretty?” Pedri couldn’t stop the question from tumbling out of his mouth.
“I guess. She had dark hair and brown eyes. Yeah, she was pretty.” Now Gavi was staring straight at Pedri, a newfound assertion seeming to have surfaced out of nowhere. Pedri fidgeted, now unsure of himself.
“So why didn’t you kiss her?” He convinced himself it was his place to ask, his place to enquire about Gavi’s private business.
“Don’t want to kiss someone if I like someone else.”
Gavi’s words wrapped around Pedri, around his stomach and his chest and his throat, suffocating him.
It was potentially the worst response the older boy could have imagined. Why couldn’t Gavi be conceited and superficial, say she wasn’t pretty enough for someone like him. It probably wouldn’t have been a lie. Or he could’ve said that he was feeling tired that night, didn’t want his first kiss to be clouded by the haze of exhaustion. But no, now, Gavi had ruled out Pedri from that part of his life.
And maybe it was his own tiredness getting the better of him, but Pedri was conscious that he was getting overly upset. Annoying tears pricked at his eyes, his heart betraying his head. Mumbling something about needing the toilet, Pedri abruptly kicked the blanket off his legs, a cold draught where Gavi's warmth had been hitting him harder than Gavi’s admission. A cruel reminder of the space wedged between them now. The older boy stumbled to the toilet, eyes down, biting his cheek, missing Gavi’s outstretched hand and look of dismay as Pedri walked away from him.
He stared at himself in the mirror, met with his own troubled eyes. Ran the cold tap, splashed his face. He forced himself to breathe deeply, to get his mind in order and his act together. He couldn't afford to spend too long in his own company though, otherwise the younger would be up, rapping his knuckles on the door demanding to know if Pedri was alright. He wasn't. But Gavi certainly did not need to know why. Shaking his head, he flushed the toilet and emerged from the bathroom.
When he returned to the living room, Gavi was sat bolt upright on the sofa, a stark change to his usual lazy posture he assumed in Pedri’s house. He must’ve heard the olderboy's footsteps, because soft brown hair whipped round, revealing Gavi’s searching face. The two just looked at each other for a couple of seconds, Pedri unsure of what to say to dissipate the growing tension, and Gavi unsure of how to handle Pedri’s little outburst.
Gavi’s voice eventually sliced through the air, “one of our programmes is on, you want to watch it?” Of course, Pedri obliged – he always would. The prospect of Gavi still acknowledging they had their own programmes, for the two of them, relieved Pedri slightly. Yet when he sat, he left a purposeful gap between their legs, ensuring no part of their bodies were touching. Gavi noticed, glancing down at the space between them, something that didn’t escape Pedri’s peripheral vision, and something Pedri chose not to think about.
The programme ended after half an hour, during which Pedri had relaxed slightly. Allowed himself to scoot over to Gavi, a silent apology for earlier. He was met with the younger boys arm draped over his shoulders, both a familiar weight and a wordless acceptance.
As the end credits rolled, Gavi was the first to stand up, stretching as he did so. Pedri decidedly looked away as the hem of Gavi's shirt rode up exposing his lightly toned stomach, opting to look out the window instead. The sky was covered in a blanket of darkness, the gentle light of the moon illuminating what the street lamps didn't. It was late, and if Pedri was to give Gavi a lift home, they needed to head off soon. The older boy slowly rose and began to wander over to the kitchen to search for his car keys.
“What are you looking for?” Gavi spoke as he shuffled behind Pedri, offering up his help on a platter before he even knew what they were hunting for. Pedri beat him to it however, jiggling his keys in Gavi’s face and laughing to himself. Gavi didn’t laugh though, if anything he looked crestfallen, eyebrows sloping sadly. “Oh. I thought I was staying over tonight cause-” he trailed off, not finishing the end of his sentence. Because I always do.
“Oh.” Pedri responded eloquently. He placed the keys back on the kitchen counter. “But you don’t have any of your stuff with you,” he pointed out even more helpfully.
“Yeah, you’re right, sorry. Lets head.” It sounded like a frightful repeat of their earlier conversation, Gavi panicking when he thought he was overstepping Pedri’s boundaries, quickly trying to make amends for smothering Pedri with his presence. The older couldn’t help but smile, amused at the thought that Gavi could ever intrude. He would never turn Gavi away, even if he wasn’t forever going to be the first person Gavi would turn to.
“Don’t be stupid. I swear you left your toothbrush here from last time, and I’ll get you some pyjamas.”
If changing facial expressions could give someone whiplash, Gavi would have broken his neck. A huge grin quickly plastered itself on his face, eyes immediately lighting up after hearing Pedri’s words, and he skipped off to the bathroom – Pedri not far behind him.
It was awfully domestic, Gavi brushing his teeth in Pedri’s bathroom with his designated toothbrush, rifling through Pedri’s drawers to find clothes to sleep in because he knew where everything was. Picking out one of Pedri’s spare jerseys and some old shorts, Gavi eventually clambered into bed with Pedri. The older ignored the swell of selfish protectiveness when he saw his number, his name, branded on Gavi’s back. Like Gavi belonged to Pedri - despite their earlier conversation proving as the most painful reminded that Gavi did not belong to Pedri.
They lay on their backs, looking up at the ceiling, talking about nothing important, casting a sideways glance when the other said something mildly amusing. The next day’s training was discussed, what Gavi wanted for breakfast tomorrow, how Ferran and his girlfriend were getting on, filler conversation really, but Pedri was just content that the pair were talking.
Before long, their chatter fizzled out, Gavi contributing a final comment, Pedri huffing in agreement, and then a peaceful silence took over the room. Just as Pedri was resigning himself to sleep, he heard Gavi shuffling beside him.
“Aren’t you going to ask about who I like?” Gavi’s voice was small, but his words were clear. Pedri blinked his eyes open, staring straight up at the ceiling again as he heard the other side of the bed continue to rustle while Gavi manoeuvred himself to lie on his side to look expectantly at Pedri. No. Pedri did not want to ask about Gavi’s mystery girl, didn’t want to have his heart ripped from his chest and trampled over by the kindest boy he knew for the second time that night. But Pedri would never deny Gavi anything.
“Tell me about her then.” Short and sharp, Pedri was too tired to attempt to hide the distaste seeping into his sentence. Maybe Gavi was too tired to notice, or just chose to ignore it.
“He-” And Gavi stopped talking, waiting for Pedri’s reaction. Pedri felt his body go rigid. He? That would explain about not wanting to kiss any girls at clubs at least, but why hadn’t Gavi told Pedri that he liked boys? They told each other everything, knew everything about one another. Sure, Gavi was unaware of Pedri's own feeling, but that was different. That was to maintain the most fulfilling friendship Pedri would ever know.
But it wasn’t different, not really. Pedri knew that in his heart. Yet he couldn’t help the twinge of pain spreading through his chest like poison beating out from his heart that the younger hadn’t told him anything.
Gavi, now sure that he had Pedri’s undivided attention and wasn't in immediate danger of being kicked out, continued. “Okay, he’s wonderful. He’s like my best friend.” Ouch. “Sometimes I swear he knows me better than I do, he calms me down when I get angry,” that was Pedri’s job, “we play Fifa when I’ve had a bad day or just want to relax, he always beats me,” maybe Gavi was just chronically bad at Fifa, “we spend all our time together,” What fucking time did Gavi possibly have spare for someone else other than Pedri?
“He sounds pretty fucking perfect to me.” Pedri interrupted, unwilling to, unable to, listen any longer.
“Yeah. You are.”