***

For a notoriously warm country, Barcelona was chilly at night.

When Sophia taps her phone screen, it read 1:23am. Sira — having stopped at the 24 hours convenience store right outside the Barcelona club to grab a bottle of water — said the cab would arrive at 1:15am. Now, both Spanish girls perched on an unused electricity bank right outside the club. With a bag of salted potato chips too.

What a successful night out.

"Do people ever, like, recognise you being your dad's daughter?" Sophia asks her roommate. "Since we live in Barca and Enrique was a bit of a Barca legend."

Sira shrugs, draping her grey shacket over her and Sophia's bare legs.

"They hardly ever do, really. Finding Barca fans who've rooted themselves in the history of the club has become a difficult thing. If they do, though, they always ask if I have any of the player's numbers."

"They do?"

"Yup."

"And... do you have any player's numbers?"

Sira tries suppressing her grin. "You're gonna laugh, but I have Sergio Ramos's number from when I was 17."

Sophia's mouth drops open. "How!"

"Dad didn't have his phone at the time, and needed to message Ramos something. It was when he just started managing Spain. I was there and he somehow memorised all of his player's numbers, if that's even possible. My dad is strange. Anyways, he called Ramos and told me to delete the number later."

"But you didn't?"

"Aw, fuck no!" Sira laughs. "It's Sergio Ramos, man. Notorious legend. Would you?"

"Nah," agreed Sophia. A shiver chilled up her spine. "Honestly, Saz, I'm fine. I can drive. This cab doesn't seem to want to come."

"No, Soph, you are not driving." says Sira. She hops off the metal container. "I'm gonna go and find some signal, see where this cab has gotten lost to. If you get into trouble, call me." She pauses. "Or scream."

Sophia nods. "I'll scream."

Sira nods, then hurries away. She also took her shacket, which was the main thing keeping Sophia's legs warm, so jumps off the container and starts jumping on the spot, arms tight at her side. She thinks how useless this all was, because her mind wasn't cleared — even worse than it was — and she was missing out on so much valuable study time. Scratch that, actually. All nighters have never worked for Sophia. But sleep sounded so good right now.

A cold breath whooshed from Sophia's mouth. Where is Sira? She should've established that the SOS-scream goes both ways. Praying that her roommate is okay, and she was about to call her, when—

"Ah, mierda."

The voice came from her right. Where, at the moment, a street food cart was dumped, shutters down. It jolted her heart a beat at knowing she wasn't alone, in this abandoned dark place behind a club...

"Stop moving," she heard another voice say.

"You're fussing. I'm fine. Let's go." The first voice says. They were both male.

"How long has it hurt, hm? Are you seriously going to be that stupid?"

A scoff. "You're one to talk about being stupid. Pays for a girl's drink but can't even get her number?"

"And who was too scared to get that number in the first place?"

Sophia halts. Could it be—?

No. It was dark, and late, and Sira would be coming around any minute now. She could not be reckless. Sophia's parents would not approve of what she was about to do. She heard them again.

"You don't know what you're doing."

"And you do? Give us a break, Fer—"

"Palmero?"

Sophia's parents definitely wouldn't approve. She rounded the street food cart to be met with two guys, as suspected. And the face of the one with the slightly overgrown short hair caught her recognition, despite the darkness. It was the Palmero. Mystery Man.

He knelt on the gravel with his back to Sophia but turned at the intruder's voice. There was a guy with him. Sophia just knew it was the guy that clashed into her. The friend sat on the edge of a bank of grass, legs outstretched, elevated by the stone bricks surrounding.

It was immediate, the look of realisation on the palmero's face. "Verdiblanco?"

"It's you again," she says, walking closer towards him, head pounding slightly at the sudden get-up. "What are you doing?"

"You remember my friend?" Palmero grimaces slightly.

She raises an eyebrow at the friend. "How could I forget?"

Friend scratches his ear. "Really sorry... about the bump on your head..."

"Forget it," she brushes off.

Palermo continues, "When he, er, ran into you... he tripped, fell over his ankle. It's dark, but I think it's bruised."

Sophia nods and gathers her dark hair to one side, slipping her yellow scrunchie around. "Okay," she says, "Let me see."

She looks around and still can't see Sira, so despite her uncertain nerves at being out here with two random guys, she proceeds. Doing the right thing, because she can. She studies this on the daily. She gets her phone and presses the torch icon. How she loved having a smartphone sometimes. The girl bends down, until Friend's hand abruptly reached out to stop her from moving anymore.

"Whoa, whoa," says Friend. "What do you think you're doing?"

Sophia's mouth opens to retort, but Palmero beat her to it.

"She studies Biological Science, Ferran." he says. "I think she knows what she's doing."

Thank god it was dark, so no one could see the redness in her cheeks, that some randomer from a club actually remembered what she said.

With her phone-torch outstretched, Sophia asks Palmero, "Can you hold this, please?"

He nods.

Knelt down, Sophia looks up at Friend. "Ferran?" He nods in confirmation. "I'm gonna examine your foot. Can you take off your shoe and sock?"

Ferran does so, and sneaks a glance to Palmero. "Oye, you with the phone. Don't be taking any free foot pictures."

Sophia actually laughs at this.

When his foot is bare to her, she takes it in her hand. Palmero was right. Now that the torchlight shone over Ferran's bare foot, the bruising was blatant. It coloured in patches over the bone of his ankle, rendered the entire ligament a murky purple. The flesh was tender at the touch, and when the guy winced with her gentle prod, Sophia had her diagnosis.

Taking her phone back from Palmero, she gave Ferran his foot back and looked at him again. "You also an athlete like Palmero over here?"

"Yeah." Ferran says.

"Well, you won't be athlete-ing any time soon. Even as a stressed, unqualified biologist with a bashed head, I can tell you. It's sprained."

"Mierda," Ferran swore lightly, at the same time Palmero looked at her with worried eyes and asked, "You sure, Verdiblanco?"

She nods, pressing her lips together. "Are you two cabbing?"

Palmero shook his head, showing her his keys. "I drove."

"That's good," says Sophia. "You'll want to take him to out-of-hours. Get it taped up immediately."

As she's picking her stuff up, ready to go back to find Sira, Palmero stops her with his voice. "What were you doing out here alone?"

"Waiting for my cab," she explains. "It was taking far too long so my roommate went to go look for it. I need to find her..."

"Stop," this time, Palmero puts a hand on her wrist. "We'll come with you to find her. No one should be out alone looking for a cab."

"No," says Sophia, shaking her head, "You should take Ferran to the hospital. I'll be fine, Pal–" Catching herself mid-sentence, a tired smile crawls over her face. "I don't want to keep calling you Palmero."

The guy laughs, a relatable one. "Likewise, Verdiblanco." Formally, he holds his hand out. "It's Pedri."

"Pedri," repeats Sophia, clasping his hand in the dark early morning, something about all of this stretching a smile onto her face. "I'm So–"

"SOPHIA!"

All at once, relief and terror flew into her. Terror, because of her name being called so urgently. Relief, because that voice belonged to the person she was about to hunt for.

Sira walked over, eyes all on Sophia, and engulfed her in a hug. "You alright, Saz?"

"Fine, Soph... just couldn't find you, is all." replied Sira.

Sophia looks back at Pedri (Palmero's name is Pedri!) apologetically. "Sophia. That's my name. This is my roommate, Si–"

"Sira Martínez," Pedri answers without hesitation, eyes wide on the girl whom he just named.

Sira's eyes were also wide, in recognition. "Pedro Gonzàlez?"

Sophia frowns, gaze shifting crazily between the two. "Pedro–you two know each other?"

"Sira?" This time it was Ferran, applying his shoe but clearly finding it very sore.

"Ferran Torres?" reciprocated Sira. "What the hell?"

"I could say the same thing!" says Sophia. "How on earth do you all know each other? What am I missing?"

Sira turns and looks at Sophia, heaving out a breath, mad at no one in particular. "This is Pedro and Ferran. They are footballers that happen to play for the Spanish National Team under my dad."

"Dios mio," says Sophia, "These are your dad's players?"

"Yes!" Sira looked like she'd just ran into her worst nightmare. She takes a once-over of Ferran. "Why are you in such a state, Ferran?"

Ferran answers, "Because I was the one that ran into Sophia over here. Sorry, again."

"I – you? What the hell–"

"Saz." Sophia cuts her off. "Let them go. Ferran sprained his ankle. Pedri needs to take him to the out-of-hours surgery. Now especially, since you've told me who they are. If he's to play for the upcoming Spain games, he needs to get treated ASAP."

Sira scoffs. "Maybe it'll serve him right."

Ferran was about to exclaim, when Sophia cut in first, "What's happening with our cab?"

"Traffic on the motorway is crazy," says Sira. "He said he'll be twenty minutes, at least."

"Cancel it, then," says Sophia. "I'll drive. I'm fine."

"Soph, no." Sira persists. "I don't have to take biology to know anyone with a near-concussion shouldn't be driving in the dark."

"Cancel the cab," says a voice from behind them. Sophia almost forgot the two Spaniards were still with them, the two Spaniards who happened to play for her roommate's dad. Sophia turned round to see it was Pedri that had spoken. "There's no point in waiting in the cold."

Sophia turns back to Sira, "See? Pedri agrees. I'll drive us back, come on–"

"No," Pedri cuts in. "I agree with Sira. You shouldn't be driving." The Palmero looks at Ferran, then Sira, then Sophia. "You can come in my car. We'll drop you off."

Sira cuts in to decline the offer, then Pedri declines her declination, then Ferran cuts in and somewhere along the lines Sophia heard Pedri say he'd be dead if his boss found out he just left his daughter outside a club to wait for a cab. Out of nowhere, Sophia felt she was back in the club when Ferran, who she didn't know was Ferran, had run into her, and her head spun at the same time her legs gave way to the ground.

Ferran was first to see, from his spectator position of the other three and his eyes grew wide and he shot a pointing finger out, "Mierda, Sophia!"

Sira and Pedri were quick with the warning — as Sira scrambled and managed to catch Sophia under the arms, kneeling down so they were both supported by the pavement.

"Soph, are you awake?" asks Sira with somewhat stability because this was the second time in one night that Sophia had taken a fall. She had complete closure the reason Sophia collapsed was because of the bump on her head. Thank god her eyes were still open, trying to stay open.

"Yeah, I..." Sophia trails off. She looked at Pedri, who shook his head as if to say, Don't talk, you'll waste energy.

Sira looks down at Sophia in her arms and smooths the girl's hair down, clinging to her forehead with sweat. "Dios mio, she's warm."

Pedri nods, and crouches down to be at level with Sophia, whose eyes were fluttering open and shut. "I think you also need a trip to out-of-hours, Verdiblanco." He looks at Sira. "We need to, Sira. Look at the lump on her head. She had a big clash. We have to take her in with Ferran."

Gulping, Sira nods. "Okay. Where... where's your car?"

"Parked a block away — you mind waiting while I bring her round?"

It didn't take Pedri long to retrieve his car — either the guy wasn't parked a block away, or he ran. But he drove in on his Cupra and rolled over the pavement, because no one else was walking over any time soon.

"Okay," Pedri breathes, hopping out. "I'll put Ferran in the front with me. You two can have the back."

Sira went with this, and watched as Pedri helped Ferran limp into the passenger seat. She saw the way Ferran was looking at Sophia and her exhausted figure, and as mad as Sira wanted to be, she could tell he felt bad. Pedri came back once Ferran was seated. Before Sira even had the chance to stand up with Sophia, Pedri crouched down again.

"It's okay. I'll get her in." Pedri said. Sophia was still attempting to keep her eyes open. He whispers, "let's get you checked out, Verdiblanco."

He takes her weight from Sira, one arm under the crook of her bare knees, the other slipping around her back, cradling her into his chest. When he gets to his feet, a whisper from Sophia is heard:

"I told you to call me Sophia, Palmero."

That left Pedri with a faint smile as he carried her in his arms to his car, and put her into the back seat. When Pedri had the seatbelt over her, he walked back to see Sira frowning in slight confusion.

"Let's go," says Pedri.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Sira realises. "You were the Palmero she was talking to in the club. You paid for her drink, Pedro?"

When Pedri shows her a half-grin, Sira laughs incredulously and slips into his car.

***