***

It's slightly awkward in the car as Pedri drives them away. Mostly because Pedri and Ferran were finding it really hard to deal with their national team's boss's daughter hitching a ride with them. And also because Ferran got them all into this mess in the first place. He apologised, but it still felt awkward.

Until a phone rings.

"I think it's mine," Sophia says in her exhausted voice. Because the ring was muffled, and everyone else's phones were out, and Sophia remembers putting hers in her purse. Sira had taken her purse.

The older girl takes it out and looks at the caller ID.

"It's Katherine," says Sira. "Why's she calling at this time? Is it not, like, 1am in England?"

"I told her I'd be clubbing tonight," says Sophia. Pedri and Ferran look back at her in curiosity. "My cousin from England's calling." She tells Sira, "Answer it."

So Sira does, and puts it on speaker.

"Hey, Soph!" The pleasant tone of her cousin's English accent filled her phone speakers. "You home yet?"

Sira answered with a slight grimace, "Not Soph, actually."

"Sira? You okay? Where's Sophia? What happened?"

"She's right here, Kat. We're okay."

To prove a point, Sophia said into the speaker, "Hey, Kat."

"Soph, what's happened? You sound ill."

"We ran into a little trouble at the club...—"

"WHAT?"

"We're okay. Heading to out-of-hours just now."

"Out of hours? Explain EVERYTHING."

"Please, Katherine. I'm fine, really. Just had a bit of a fall at the club, got ran into. It's a hideous bump, but I'm hoping that's all it is. I really don't see the need for a check-up, but..."

"You're getting one, Soph. End of discussion. Sira, you have my permission to take away Sophia's Disney+ privileges if she steps out of line."

"Got it, Kat."

"How are you guys getting there? Please tell me neither of you are driving."

"We're not, as much as I wanted to. We have a lift."

"Who's your lift?"

"You are full of questions, Katherine Adams."

"I don't stay up this late for nothing."

"These two guys at the club. One of them's also needing the hospital, he fell into me and sprained his ankle. They're both Spanish footballers."

"Wait... Spanish footballers?"

"Yep," Sophia spares a glance to a highly exasperated Sira. "They both train under Sira's dad, actually. You might know them, depending on what club they play for. Pedri and Ferran."

"Wait... Ferran?"

"...Yes?"

"Ferran... his last name...?"

Ferran's head shoots to the back. "Sophia," he says, voice shallow with fear. "What... what was your cousin's name, again?"

"Katherine Adams," says Sophia, frowning.

Ferran's face drops.

Then Sophia tells Katherine, "Ferran Torres."

They can just hear the realisation settling in.

And Katherine yells through the speaker, "FERRAN?! Who plays for Manchester City? One of my players?"

For the tenth time that night, Ferran swore, "Mierda!"

Sira leans over and whispers, "He does play for City, dios mio!"

Katherine asks, "Whose ankle is sprained, Sophia?"

Sophia grimaces. "I think you already know."

"Can you give Ferran the phone for me, please?"

Sophia's giving Ferran an apologetic look as she says, "Sure."

Now holding the phone, Ferran tries to do something to make himself seem... fine in front of his manager. "Katherine! Hey! How's it going!"

"Can you please take me off speaker, Ferran?"

He does so, and the minutes that follow consist of Sophia listening up close to what is the most incoherent, angry Spanish she's ever heard her cousin spout. Ferran had Sophia's purple iPhone and he barely spoke back apart from "yes", "no", "I wasn't thinking", and he held the receiver away from his face as if able to feel the impact of her loud words from countries away.

The phone returned back to Sophia, and the girl sighs into the receiver. "You traumatised the poor boy, Kat. I didn't know he was one of your players."

"Serves him right for getting drunk and nearly knocking you unconscious."

"I'm fine, Kat. Or else I wouldn't be talking to you like this. It's just a little bump on the head."

She can hear Katherine sigh. "If you're sure, Soph."

"You should go to sleep. You sound tired."

Katherine scoffs. "You're one to talk."

Sophia laughs. "Bye. Love you."

"Tell me what happens. I love you too."

The call ends, and Sophia hands the phone back to Sira, who puts it in her purse.

"So..." Ferran ends the short silence. "Katherine Adams, Man City's co-manager... is your... cousin."

"And you play for Man City," says Sophia.

"What a lovely revelation." She can see Pedri's dire attempt not to burst into laughter while driving.

"You obviously don't play for Man City, no, Palmero?" observes Sophia. "Or else you'd also have gotten the shit scared out of you by my cousin."

"No," says Pedri, hands at the bottom corners of the steering wheel. The roads were quiet at this time, and traffic lights were mostly all green. Pedri coasted smoothly over the bare Barcelona roads. He turns back to look at Sophia momentarily. "I play for Barcelona."

"That makes sense," says Sophia. "Wait... what were you doing in Barcelona, then Ferran? Now it's established you're a Cityzen."

Ferran shrugs, "End of season? City won the league, we still have a while before Euro qualifications begin - I doubt I'll be able to play, now. Katherine and Pep let me off two weeks earlier, the Spanish season is over, Atléti's won the league... yeah. Made sense to link up."

"And get yourself injured," adds Sira, "and make my roommate collapse."

"Sira." says Sophia. "Not the time, babe."

"Hush, you. No more talking. You'll waste energy."

"It's all right." says Pedri, rolling into a somewhat empty car park. As the medical logo and sign reading Accidente y Emergencia came into sight, he adds, "We're here."

The next half an hour saw them all in the waiting room of the hospital - Ferran was filling out the medical card the receptionist handed to him, and asked for extra details since they, well, recognised his name as one of the national team players. The receptionist recognised Pedri especially and through her glass screen asked if he could give her his autograph, because her son was a massive Barca fan.

"So," says Sophia, legs swinging underneath her cushioned seat. Ferran had gone in to get his medical done, and Sira went to go search for the water fountain. It was just herself and Pedri, who was reading a magazine on Cleanest Recipes for Rejuvenated Skin! "You are a culér? Not a fan, but... an actual culér?"

"I am a fan, that is also true..." He answers, setting the magazine down and folding a leg over his knee. "But I'm a player for the first team.

"Damn..." Sophia marvels. "Like... Messi Barcelona?"

Pedri smiles, half a laugh escaping him. "The very one, Verdiblanco. Suppose you wouldn't know much about it, though? Being a Bético, and all."

"Everyone knows Messi! My brother is also obsessed with Busquets. He makes his all-time Spanish XI. And whenever I've sat down for dinner with Sira's family, Uncle Enrique cannot shut up about his old days as coach."

"Fair enough." He remarks. "I adore Busi too. You ever see any games? For Betis?"

"Since I've moved here to Barca... not as much. I held a season ticket when I lived in Seville, so I usually went at least every week. Away games too if they were nearby. If Betis play against one of the Barca teams, though, yeah. I've been to an Espanyol-Betis game and the Barca-Betis game in November last year."

Pedri didn't respond much, so Sophia glances over and sees him hunched in his chair, grinning down at himself.

She frowns. "What?"

Pedri sits up a little, still smiling. "Barca-Betis last November... I scored in that game."

Sophia's jaw drops. "Are you talking about... 5-2?"

"The very one," he nods.

"What minute?"

"Ninetieth," he answers with no hesitation. "You remember it?"

"I hate to break it to you, Palmero," says Sophia, "I walked out after Messi's second goal. Eighty-second minute."

"You sore loser. I can't believe you didn't stay for my goal."

"I didn't even know who you were, Pedri," Sophia laughs. "We were down to ten men and you were up 4-2 with less than ten minutes to go. And I had a tissues and organs assessment the next day, so."

Pedri nods. "Okay. Fair. But... I'm showing you the goal. I was very proud."

Sophia sniggers as Pedri pulls his phone out of his jacket, immediately tapping into YouTube. She leans in slightly as he plays through the match highlights, their shoulders meshing together. She rolled his eyes at the fact he was going through each of Barca's five goals from that match in turn, and once they were done, he switched off his phone and sent her a grin.

"Not bad, Palmero," commends Sophia, "Not bad."

He's trying to stop his smile from stretching too wide as he admits, "It was my first goal for Barcelona. That's why I remember it so well."

"Fair enough," says Sophia, smiling for no reason at all. "Did it have to be against Betis, though?"

"In my defence, they were already losing 4-2. It would be disappointing not to add."

"Señora Diaz?"

"Sì?" Sophia's head shot up at the sudden mention of her name. A male doctor in blue scrubs stood ahead of her in by the reception, holding the medical form Sophia had previously filled out.

"We're ready to check you out, Señora. Please come along."

Sophia nods and walks over, until the doctor frowns seeing Pedri still sitting. "Eres futbolista?"

"Sì," replies Pedri. "Soy Pedri."

"For Barcelona," adds Sophia, grinning.

"Ah," the doctor grimaces. "Atlèti fan."

"Felicidades," Pedri laughs, knowing Atlético Madrid had just won the Spanish league.

"Gracias," the doctor grins. "And to you, for the Copa del Rey. I'm aware Ferran Torres of Manchester City is already in the screening room... but what about the girl with you earlier? Nurses were saying she's some coach's daughter."

"Sì," says Sophia, "Luis Enrique's daughter. Coach for España."

"Dios mio," the doctor laughs as he walks ahead, leading Sophia to one of the rooms. "Two of our national players and the daughter of our country's coach? What an interesting night. And you?"

"Just a science student, no shocks there," Sophia laughs.

Ferran ends up limping back out not long after Sophia leaves them. His ankle was bandaged up and soon after he hopped his way to the seat next to Pedri (in the relatively empty waiting room), a nurse came and brought him a pair of crutches. Sira returned soon after, asking Pedri where Sophia had gone. She sat on a chair opposite Ferran and Pedri, and the knives she glared towards Ferran were not subtle in any way.

"Please..." Ferran starts, then sighs. "Please don't tell your dad what happened tonight. Euro qualifiers are in a few weeks, and I won't be able to play, and I can't have him know that it was because of this... and that you were involved."

Sira doesn't answer him right away. Shifts her gaze between Ferran, then Pedri, who seemed interested in what she'd reply. She sighs.

"I won't, Ferran." says Sira. "If he asks, I'll just say me and Sophia left tonight early. Bowling alley incident and too many drinks."

"Thanks," says Ferran.

"Don't thank me. I'm not doing it for you."

Ferran nods slowly. Looks across and sees a magazine open and splayed across Pedri's face, his head tilted back. Must be getting a nap. Sira was staring at her feet, waiting for Sophia.

Ferran eventually breaks the silence between himself and Sira with, "I didn't mean for this to happen to Sophia. You have to know that."

For the first time tonight, Sira actually looks Ferran in the eyes. "I know."

Ferran almost smiles. He nods instead. "Cool."

Sira pressed her lips together. "Nice."

A yawn is heard, and the magazine slides off a sleeping Pedri's face to reveal a very awake Pedri. "So tired." He mumbles. But smirked his friend's way, because he just overheard their entire conversation. Ferran scoffed at him at the same time the Doctor was walking back outside into the reception, a gentle hand resting on Sophia's back as he chatted away to her.

"The good news is," the doctor announces to the group waiting. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with Sophia. A little dizzy from falling down in the club but mainly just stress and mental exhaustion from all the exam preparation paired with a lack of self-care. As in, less nutritious diet, not enough fluids... which we've talked about, right?" Sophia nods at the pointed look the doctor gave her. "Exams are important, but so are you. You've got to look out for yourself in times like these."

Sira stands and walks to Sophia, arm around her shoulders. "She has me, too. Gracias, for your help tonight."

The doctor nods, smiling. "No problem, ladies. You have a way home?"

"We—"

"I'll take them home," says Pedri. "I brought them here, so it's only right. Gracias, señor."

"Nice to meet you both." The doctor turns his gaze on Ferran. "I will get in touch with your medical advisor in Manchester City with the details you gave me to update them on your situation. But from my expertise you're looking at 2 weeks of recovery and a week of rehab. You may be cleared in time to play for España for the Euros."

"Gracias," says Ferran.

"No problem. Hope you both feel better. And—oh, wait a second—"

A nurse had walked up with a piece of fabric in her hands and as it became clearer they realised it was the red jersey of the Spanish national team. The doctor laughs.

"Knew I had it somewhere in this place. Thank you, Laura. Um, if you two wouldn't mind..."

"Not at all," laughs Pedri, accepting the marker the doctor held in his hand to sign the jersey. Ferran followed suit with a grin.

"Have a nice night, everyone." The doctor finally said, and the four Spaniards made their way back into the car park and loaded themselves into Pedri's car.

"You're probably too exhausted to give me directions, Sira, so I'll put it in GPS." says Pedri. "Mind telling me your address?"

Sira does so and soon Pedri has them on their way.

Pedri asks, "How's your dad been?"

"He's been fine," Sira says after stifling a yawn. "Stressed like fuck because of the Euro qualifiers, and then the Euros right after that, and then the Olympics too. But apart from that, he's been fine. Was really happy to see Barca winning the Copa del Rey."

"Makes two of us," Pedri looks back momentarily, grinning.

"He talks very highly about you," explains Sira. "Don't quote me on this, but I've heard him thinking about calling you up for either the Olympics or the Euros. Not sure which yet, he wants some of the less known players too. There's one actually, think he also plays for Barca B... Pablo something? Cannot remember, that drink did a number on me."

"Pablo Gavi?" suggests Pedri.

"Yes!" Sira nods. "Him, he's the one. Dad was unsure though, since he's not even debuted for Barca's first team yet. He was super impressed by him however."

"From what I've seen of him, he is pretty amazing," agrees Pedri. "We've barely interacted, only in the few first team trainings he's joined in on. I'm sure he'll be getting his debut next season."

"We think so too," agrees Sira.

Ferran turns back, an eyebrow raised. "Are you... supposed to be telling us this?"

"Probably not," Sira shrugs. "But you weren't supposed to be causing a riot in the club either, so ratting me out would be of no benefit."

"Touché," Ferran laughs. And then: "Are you threatening me, Sira?"

"I prefer the term "tactical negotiation to make sure none of us gets our asses kicked for what went down tonight", which sounds much better, don't you agree?"

Ferran laughs and shifts his gaze onto the girl beside Sira, head dropped on her roommates' shoulder.

"You holding up okay, princesa?" Ferran asks Sophia.

"'M fine," she mumbles. "Just tired. And I don't want to go to the library in the morning."

Ferran frowns. "So just... don't go?"

"If only it were that easy, Ferran," Sophia sighs, closing her eyes as she snuggled into Sira's shoulder.

Because of her closed eyes, Sophia couldn't see Ferran's frown.

Pedri answers for her, "She has a chemistry exam in two days."

"Not even," mumbles Sophia. "I'm guessing in 40 hours now."

"You should probably stay at home, if I'm honest." Pedri reiterates Ferran's point.

Sophia was almost asleep by this point. She repeats, "If only it were that easy, Pedri."

Pedri looks back momentarily with a frowns.

Sira, half-asleep herself, says, "Don't bother, Pedro. She'll still be up at 8am no matter what anyone says. There's no point."

"Fair enough," Pedri has to laugh. The car eventually rolls to a halt. He announces, "We have arrived, ladies."

"Thank you, Pedri." says Sira, shuffling out the Cupra, then holding two hands for Sophia, who was rubbing her eyes awake as Sira linked her free arm in hers. "Really appreciate all you did for us tonight."

Pedri shakes his head, a smile twitching at his lips. "Don't sweat it, Sira. You'd have done the same for me. Take care of yourselves, both of you."

"We will, Pedro. Thanks again. Let's go, Soph."

Sira was about to turn and lead them both into the flat a small walk behind them, when Sophia stopped them.

"Wait a second," she told Sira, then walked back towards the Cupra. She leaned against the frame of the window Pedri had rolled down, in eye-line of a confused Ferran and a confused Pedri (whose face was inches from her own, but she tried not to think about this).

"Yo. Before I go, pass me your phone, Ferran," says Sophia.

Confused, Ferran's hesitant arm does so. Sophia taps his screen a few times, presses the Call button, feels her own phone buzz, then cancels the call. He's still confused even as she passes him his phone back.

Ferran looks at the newly-added contact and frowns deeper. "What's this for?"

Sophia shrugs her shoulders loosely. "So tonight wasn't all for nothing." Realising something, she points a serious finger in Ferran's direction. "But if you even think of using my number to flirt with me I will set my gran's Rhodesian Ridgeback on you."

Ferran laughs nervously. "After the way tonight went, I'm past that. Again... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm over it." She says. "Or... I will be, once I've gone to sleep."

Ferran smiles, but this time, Sophia did not miss the way the smile extended past her own self leaning in Pedri's window, and reached behind her, where her roommate was stood in the slight-sunrise of early Spain. And the smile stayed there for a while, too.

Something to bring up later.

"Is this goodbye, then, Verdiblanco?" asks Pedri once Sophia shifted her gaze from Ferran to the driver of the Cupra.

"Not quite," she denies. "Would you pass me your phone, too, Palmero?"

There's a smirk trailing Pedri's lips as he passes her his phone, musing, "I thought you didn't do numbers?" When he gets it back, he has to laugh at the contact name Sophia set for herself on his phone.

Sophia looses a tired chuckle admitting, "Palmero. You have literally caught me in a moment of weakness."

"Well I hope you feel better," says Pedri.

"Thank you, Pedri," says Sophia. "For everything."

"I'm just glad you're okay... good luck with the exam."

Sophia smiles. "Good luck with the football." To Ferran, with a little grimace, "good luck with my cousin."

The Andalusian walks away, giving the two boys in the car a wave in parting. Their hands both lift in synchronous movements, but Pedri didn't drive away until Sophia and Sira were inside the lobby of their flat.

"I still can't believe Pedri was the Palmero from the club," Sira remarks, her key in the door of their flat.

Sophia chuckles. "There aren't many of them, if we're honest."

"Well... none like him, that's for sure."

***

hi guys ‼️ saar here. first few chapters are out! i hope you're all enjoying this fic so far, plz lemme know ur thoughts :) if you choose to read this, thank you so much, i really appreciate it 💙take care everyone xxx