Chapter Text
The bass thrummed through the walls of Gavi's apartment, vibrating in Pedri's chest as he nursed his second beer of the night. It wasn't really his scene—these post-match parties that some of the younger players threw—but Ferran had insisted, and Pedri had never been particularly good at saying no to Ferran.
"You need to live a little," Ferran had said that afternoon in the locker room, slinging an arm around Pedri's shoulders with that easy confidence he seemed to wear like a second skin.
"We just won 3-0. Come on, hermano. For me?"
And here Pedri was, between Gavi and Balde on a couch that had seen better days, watching as Lamine tried to convince Alejandro that he could absolutely do a handstand while drinking a beer.
"This is going to end badly," Pedri muttered.
"Obviously," Gavi agreed, grinning. "That's the point."
Ferran appeared from the kitchen, two fresh beers in hand. He passed one to Pedri with a wink before dropping onto the arm of the couch beside him. The proximity was familiar—they'd always been tactile with each other, even back in their youth team days. Ferran's thigh pressed against Pedri's, warm even through the fabric of his jeans.
"Lamine! Stop encouraging him!" Ferran called out, laughing as Alejandrto nearly fell into the coffee table.
The attempted handstand ended exactly as predicted, with Alejandro on his back on the floor, beer soaking into the carpet, while everyone fell into laughter. Even Pedri couldn't help but smile, some of the tension he'd been carrying since the match finally dropping from his shoulders.
"Okay, okay," Gavi announced, sitting up straighter. "New game. Everyone sit in a circle. We're playing Never Have I Ever."
Pedri's stomach dropped. He knew this game. Everyone knew this game. And he knew exactly how it would go.
"I don't know, maybe we should—" he started, but Ferran was already moving, pulling him up from the couch.
"Come on, don't be boring," Ferran teased, his fingers wrapped around Pedri's wrist.
The circle formed quickly. Gavi, Balde, Lamine, Ferran, and Pedri, plus a few others from the team and some friends Pedri didn't know well. Someone dimmed the lights, and someone else turned down the music just enough so that they could hear each other.
"Standard rules," Gavi said, holding up his beer. "Ten fingers. You drink when you've done it. Most innocent person at the end buys the next round."
"Pedri's definitely buying," Balde said immediately, and several people laughed.
Pedri felt his face heat. It wasn't mean-spirited—it never was with these guys—but he knew his reputation. Quiet. Focused. A little too serious. While the others were out at clubs or posting cryptic Instagram stories about their latest conquests, Pedri was usually at home, watching film or reading or calling his parents.
"We'll see," he said, trying to sound casual.
The game started innocently enough. Never have I ever been to Japan. Never have I ever broken a bone. Never have I ever scored a hat trick. Pedri kept all ten fingers up, taking small sips of his beer when appropriate.
Then it shifted.
"Never have I ever hooked up with someone I met at a club," Lamine said with a mischievous grin.
Ferran put down a finger without hesitation, along with most of the circle. Pedri kept his hand steady, all ten fingers still extended.
"Never have I ever sent a nude," Alejandro added.
More fingers dropped. Pedri's remained up.
"Never have I ever had a one-night stand."
"Never have I ever kissed someone within an hour of meeting them."
"Never have I ever received a lap dance."
With each round, more fingers around the circle dropped. Ferran was down to five. Gavi had four. Even quiet Balde had put down three fingers.
Pedri still had all ten up.
He could feel the attention shifting to him, gentle ribbing starting to bubble up. His face was burning now, and he took a longer drink of his beer, wishing he could disappear into the couch cushions.
"Okay, okay," Gavi said, and there was something almost protective in his tone. "Never have I ever—"
"Wait," Ansu interrupted, looking directly at Pedri with wide, incredulous eyes. "Pedri. Are you telling me you've never done any of this stuff?"
The room went quiet, everyone's attention now fully on him.
"I mean..." Pedri started, his voice smaller than he intended. "I've been busy. Football, training, you know..."
"But like, nothing?" Balde pressed, though he was smiling. "Come on, man. Not even a kiss?"
"I've kissed someone," Pedri said defensively, though it came out more like a question than a statement.
"When you were twelve doesn't count," Gavi said, laughing.
"It was—it was more recent than that," Pedri protested, but he could hear how weak it sounded.
Ferran had gone quiet beside him, and when Pedri risked a glance, he found his friend watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Not judgmental, exactly, but... considering.
"There's nothing wrong with taking things slow," Alejandro said as he took a sip of his beer.
"Slow? The guy's a saint," Lamine said, but he was grinning, clearly not meaning any harm.
The conversation moved on, the game continuing, but Pedri felt disconnected from it now, too aware of his own inexperience, too conscious of the way he didn't quite fit into this part of his teammates' lives. He laughed at the right moments, drank when he was supposed to, but his mind was elsewhere.
When the game finally broke up—Pedri did have to buy the next round, as predicted—people started to disperse. Some headed to the kitchen for more drinks, others out to the balcony to smoke. Pedri stood, intending to find a quiet corner or maybe just leave, when Ferran caught his arm.
"Hey," Ferran said quietly, his hand warm and solid on Pedri's bicep. "You okay?"
"Yeah, fine," Pedri said automatically. "Just tired."
Ferran's dark eyes searched his face, and Pedri had the uncomfortable feeling that his friend could see right through him. They'd known each other too long, been through too much together. Ferran had always been there for him, during his first major injury, for the homesickness that had nearly broken him when he first moved to Barcelona. And Pedri had been there for Ferran through his struggles at City, through his transfer, through every high and low.
They knew each other. Really knew each other.
"You're embarrassed," Ferran said, and it wasn't a question.
Pedri wanted to deny it, but what was the point? "A little," he admitted, looking away. "I know it's stupid. It's just... everyone else has all this experience, and I feel like I'm still figuring out the basics."
"It's not stupid," Ferran said firmly. He glanced around, then jerked his head toward the balcony. "Come on. Let's get some air."
The balcony was blessedly empty, the cool Barcelona night air felt like a relief after the warmth of the crowded apartment. The city sprawled out below them. Pedri leaned against the railing, grateful for the quietness.
Ferran stood beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
"You know nobody actually cares, right?" Ferran said finally. "About the game. They were just messing around."
"I know," Pedri said. "It's not really about them. It's more... I don't know. I see you guys, how confident you are with people. How easy it seems. And I have no idea how to do any of that."
"You think it's easy for everyone?"
"It seems easy for you."
Ferran laughed, but it was softer than usual. "Maybe. But I've also made plenty of mistakes. Trust me, it’s better not to rush into things."
"Yeah, but there's a difference between not rushing and being completely clueless," Pedri said, frustration creeping into his voice. "I'm twenty-two, Ferran. Most people have at least... I don't know. Some idea of what they're doing."
Ferran was quiet for a moment, and when Pedri looked over, his friend was watching him with that same considering expression from earlier.
"What if I helped you?" Ferran said.
Pedri blinked. "What?"
"Helped you. You know, with the stuff you feel like you're missing out on." Ferran shrugged, trying to look casual, but there was something careful in the way he was watching Pedri's reaction. "I mean, we're friends. We trust each other. If you want to learn how to flirt, or kiss, or... whatever, I could teach you. No pressure, no judgment."
Pedri's heart was suddenly beating very fast. "You're serious."
"Why not?" Ferran said, and now he was smiling, that familiar confident grin. "Better to practice with someone you trust than to stumble through it with a stranger, right? And then when you meet someone you actually like, you'll know what you're doing."
It made sense. It was logical. So why did the thought of it make Pedri's mouth go dry?
"I... I don't know," Pedri said. "That's weird, right? That would be weird."
"Only if we make it weird," Ferran said. He turned to face Pedri fully, leaning his hip against the railing. "Look, no pressure. Just think about it. But the offer's there if you want it. You're my best friend, Pedri. I want you to feel confident. In all parts of your life."
Pedri nodded slowly, his mind racing. Part of him wanted to laugh it off, to make a joke and change the subject. But another part—a larger part than he wanted to admit—was already imagining it. Ferran teaching him how to flirt, how to touch someone, how to...
He swallowed hard.
"Okay," he heard himself say. "Okay. Yeah. Maybe that would... that could help."
Ferran's smile widened, genuine and warm. He reached out and squeezed Pedri's shoulder, and the touch sent a spark of something through Pedri's chest that he immediately tried to ignore.
"Good," Ferran said. "We'll start easy. No rush. Just... whenever you're ready."
"Whenever I'm ready," Pedri echoed.
They stood there on the balcony a moment longer, the sounds of the party muffled behind them, the city breathing below. Pedri tried to focus on the view, on the cool air, on anything except the way his heart was still racing.
He told himself it was just nerves. Just the anxiety of trying something new.
It was only later, lying in bed that night, unable to sleep, that he let himself acknowledge the small, traitorous thought that had been lurking in the back of his mind since Ferran made the offer.
Part of him had been hoping Ferran would suggest exactly this.
And that realization scared him more than anything else.