***

From: Palmero

Palmero: I still can't believe you ditched me :(
Me: wdym "ditched you"
Me: i had to WORK
Me: would much rather be at the game than serving alcohol to creepy adults
Palmero: it still counts as ditching
Palmero: i am here in russia and YOU ARE NOT
Palmero: how else am i going to beat link in mario kart💔💔💔
Me: i am very sorry i couldn't give you that satisfaction Pedri💔💔💔💔
Me: i have student debt that must be paid off💔
Palmero: i could snap my fingers and all that debt would be gone
Me: so kind of you to volunteer, Palmero
Palmero: i was just merely *stating* that i could
Me: that's really really sad
Palmero: no sadder than you ditching me
Me: i give up
Palmero: 😎🤙
Palmero: if we make it to the semis today
Me: *if*
Me: not if, pedri, you WILL
Palmero: ok fine. WHEN we make it to the semis today... would you be open to coming to wembley to watch?
Palmero: plz say ur not working
Me: i am working... but i can see what i can do
Me: let me coming to the semis be ur motivation to get INTO the semis 💙
Palmero: I'm holding you to that
Me: good luck against switzerland today💙
Palmero: gracias ☺️
Palmero: enjoy paying off your student debt 💙

***

Sophia was leaning on the wooden countertop of the bar, eyes trained on the television hanging up high at the corner wall of the room.

Switzerland versus Spain was playing, and the game had gone to extra time.

Again.

"I'll take two pints of beer, por favor," Sophia's latest customer requested, an arm on the bar opposite from her. Scheduled for bartending in her dad's restaurant today, Sophia had no choice but to watch her country play from the large televisions hanging up within the premise. It was almost five, so yet to get very busy, however a couple of groups had came in to have a meal and a drink over the game playing in the background. The customer who'd came up to her bar, a man similar age to her father, adds with a sigh, "Gonna need them in order to endure this next half hour."

Sophia chuckles in response. "Understandable. Coming right up, señor."

It had all become second nature to Sophia now. She's grown up around her dad's restaurant and even despite the many changes the place has had over the years, the way the pint glass must be tilted as you pour from the taps has never changed, nor has the mechanism of balancing multiple plates on a single arm. Or the annoying policy of ensuring no strand of hair escapes it's hairdo.

(But that was more of an issue for food servers. Hygiene and all that. Sophia was a bartender today, so not as seriously tied-down.)

"Gracias, niña," the customer flashes her a grin, tipping her an extra ten euros. Yeah, this is why she loved bartending.

He went back to his table, beer in hands, and a different presence strides towards Sophia. On her side of the bar.

"I have been told to make myself useful," says Giovani De Luca, his tall figure bending to lean on the bar. "Vince told me to join you since it's so dead in front of house."

(With the quarterfinals game being played today, Vincent Diaz had a hint the night could be very popular for his restaurant. And so, he needed all hands on deck — including Gio, who he knew had an involvement with his eldest daughter in the past... but he trusted Sophia when she said she was past that past.)

"I can assure you, Gio," Sophia chuckles, "it's not any more lively back here." She frowns, trying to look for something for him to do. "Mateo's gone to get wine from the back, he's on bar with me today. I... grab a cloth, polish the champagne glasses."

On cue with her words, Sophia grabs a cloth from under the bar and chucks it in Gio's direction. It hits him directly in the face, and she stifles a laugh at his scrunched features.

"Rude," Gio laughs, but takes out a crate of champagne flutes anyways. His eyes follow the trail of Sophia's, currently dead-set on the TV on the wall as she sprayed the wooden countertop. "Mierda, extra time? Again?"

"Yeah," Sophia sighs.

"That's shit," he says. Because he was working with food today, and because his hair was floppy, he was instructed to wear a headband to peel it back. His uniform was near-identical to Sophia's. The typical staff attire. A fitted black polo with navy chinos. While Gio wore a full-length apron, though, Sophia's was just a half-apron, the difference between bar and plate workers. "Seen anything special?"

"The young players have excelled," says Sophia. "But it's messy as fuck."

Gio clicks his tongue in response. He asks her carefully, "You know the Spanish coach, right? Vince mentioned something."

"Um, I do know Lucho," Sophia nods, not sure where Gio was going with this. "My flatmate from last year is his daughter, Sira. Well, current flatmate. I'm renewing my lease with her. But I know the entire family, they practically took me in this year in Barca."

"Damn," Gio remarks. "In Sevilla, you can sit down for dinner with the co-manager of Man City and in Barcelona, you sit down for dinner with the national team's coach."

"Not really." Sophia adds, grinning, "but yeah."

"That's wild. Wait till Mateo finds out. He's a Barca merchant."

"Wait till I find out what?"

Sophia and Gio simultaneously turn their heads, finding the door from the kitchen into the bar open, a blonde boy with tan skin entering. Mateo, on bar duty with Sophia today, was a little taller than her but still quite a bit smaller than Gio. He had an easy grin on him when he was in a good mood, but a scowl that could haunt you when he wasn't. Still, he certainly attracted attention with his looks, much like Gio. And, well, Sophia has also had a fair amount of guys hitting on her in this job.

She's beginning to think her dad only hires a type.

Anyways. As Mateo walks in with his empty crate, Sophia frowns.

"Where's the wine you went to find?"

"None up here," replies Mateo. "I asked your dad in the back and he said to take a trip down to the wine cellar. Oh, he told me to grab De Luca too."

"No problem," Sophia looks at Gio, "You heard the man. Help out with the wine."

Gio jabs an offended thumb in Mateo's direction. "He's a man?"

(Mateo was literally five months older than Sophia.)

Mateo, puffing his chest out, goes, "Suck it, De Luca." He returns to his usual stance, turning to Sophia, who wondered why he was still here. "There's a slight complication though."

Sophia frowns. "How so?"

"Remember how I fucked my knee skateboarding?" Still frowning, Sophia nods. Mateo continues, "We all know those steps to the wine cellar are an accident waiting to happen, and I'm bad enough on stairs as it is. I haven't slept in my bedroom in weeks because I can't get up and down the stairs."

"Get to the point, Mateo," it was Gio this time.

Mateo nods. "Vincent's asked if you can go down instead of me, Soph. I just came to swap out with you."

Fuck.

Sophia sighs. "You could have led with that, Mateo."

Mateo shrugs with a grin. "I like the drama. And being called a man."

Sophia narrows an eye. "You're less of a man for that," to which Mateo over-dramatically gasps. "Do you have the key?"

Mateo nods, fishing into his pocket, his finger flicking back out with the cellar key spinning once around, and he chucks it towards Sophia, who catches it. She takes Mateo's crate under her arm, moves to the door and looks back once.

"C'mon, Gio." She says. To Mateo, "Enjoy the game."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Mateo replies, acting like he had no interest in watching their country play overhead.

"Yeah, right," Sophia laughs, before heading out the door, Gio following close behind.

(Her mind screaming at her because this was the situation she wanted to avoid. Gio, and the wine cellar. These two together... it was an interesting ordeal the last time.)

The stairs to the wine cellar was under the hatchet in the back of the kitchen. Sophia and Gio passed Vincent on the way in, who was doing maintenance checks of all the stoves and ovens. Somebody had ordered a pizza and they could definitely smell it in the stone oven.

On the walk down the uneven stone steps to the wine cellar, Gio quips, "It appears that you're avoiding the elephant in the room, Miss Adams-Diaz." It was dark, and also tight in the little passage down, Sophia leading the way after having passed the crate to Gio, who offered to take it. What a gentleman.

"I wonder what elephant that would be, Mister De Luca," Sophia returns in the exact same manner of accusation. She had an idea what elephant it was. But she didn't want to bring up that elephant, not here, with him, when they were going to the damned wine cellar.

"So you're telling me you haven't paid attention to Twitter lately?" says Gio. "Or even Mundo Deportivo? Because... if not, you might want to. You made a headline."

Okay. Yeah. Sophia understood now.

(But also. Thank goodness. It was a different elephant to what Sophia had first conjured to thought.)

"Didn't know you were such an avid reader of Mundo Deportivo, Gio," Sophia continues with nonchalance. She can almost hear Gio scoff lightly, as they reach the locked wine cellar door.

"Didn't know you were such good friends with Pedri González."

If Sophia froze at the mention of Pedri's name by Gio, she hoped the jamming of the key in the door masked it.

Basically... after the Spain match versus Croatia in Copenhagen, Mundo Deportivo had written an article about the mystery girl who had "pounced on Pedri" — their exact words — digging up her links with Sira Martinez and Luis Enrique as well as sourcing her back to Katherine Adams through Katherine's Instagram account. Since Sophia's was private. However, what mattered to the news outlet as well all the accounts on Twitter posting the clip of her and Pedri hugging — what mattered to them wasn't who she was but what her relationship with Pedri was.

Nosey fuckin' buggers.

"Is, um, is that fine?" Sophia frowns as they enter the wine cellar, turning the light switch on. Not that it made much difference, the copper hues kept the room in the dark slightly still. Just enough to see the labels on wine bottles. Gio stands with the large crate in his hands as Sophia begins plucking glass wine bottles from the stacked shelves surrounding them, piling on the weight for Gio.

"Oh yeah," says Gio. "Totally fine. You can just go off and become best pals with footballers during the weekend, come back and resume your bartending job. Nobody needs to know. And it's normal."

"It's not normal, Gio," Sophia laughs, but at the same time, he was being weird.

"Exactly!" Gio agrees, violently enthused. "It's not fuckin' normal, you've probably gotten a million and one instagram requests, you didn't even get this much attention with your cousin being City's coach. Like, people are calling you Pedri's mystery girl." Gio runs his teeth over his bottom lip, pensive. Then asks carefully, "A...are you? Not a mystery anymore, everyone's discovered who you are, but... Are you two..."

"Together?" Sophia finishes, and Gio's silence told her his reply. "Um, no... we're not. Me and Pedri are mates... like... like how me and you are mates."

That was a lie, and she knew it.

Sophia didn't want to be mates with Pedri the same way she was mates with Gio.

Not after the heartbreak of the last time.

Sophia clears her throat, moving away from the topic. "Could you grab three from the top, please? I can't reach."

Gio nods, handing over the crate of wine bottles to Sophia. Fuck, it was heavy. Not saying a word, he reaches the top of the shelf without effort, lifting the three bottles and slotting them into the crate Sophia held.

"Need any more from the world high above?" Gio teases.

Sophia tilts her head, a grin not concealing itself. "One white wine from the corner, por favor. And there should also be a spanner to hit you in the head with nearby."

Gio returns, clicking his tongue. "Violence, Miss Adams-Diaz. Your father would not be happy." Slotting the final bottle in the crate, he pauses, facing Sophia. "Nor about this..."

Sophia wasn't sure what Gio meant by that... until his hand reached towards her face. Gently brushing back a clump of her dark hair that had evidently fallen from its' low bun. He tucks the hair behind her earring-studded ears, but his thumb remained on her face still, caressing the side of her face.

Oh, no. She holds her breath.

This lad and his floppy chestnut hair and his gorgeous blue eyes. This lad and his jokes and Star Wars references. This lad and his soft hands and his long legs that made reaching the top of the wine shelves easy. Dammit, why couldn't Sophia be a bit taller?

Sophia clears her throat. Tells him, "Gracias," for saving her from getting her ass kicked because of a little dress code breach. And asks him to retake the crate so she could do a last check of the cellar, that she didn't miss any bottles, that she wouldn't have to come back down here later.

There wasn't a need. She knew she had it all.

But Gio... him and all his tallness and prettiness and Gio-ness, she felt like she'd been transported back in time to when she was eighteen and in love with this guy.

She remembers exactly why she was in love with this guy.

But she couldn't let herself do it. She couldn't fall for that same trap, not again.

Gio seemed to catch on, staring into the crate. When Sophia tells him they're sorted, they head back up to the main restaurant in silence, Gio carrying the crate. Entering through the door to the bar, it was still empty. Save for Mateo slumped over the polished countertop, dragging his face with his hands, faced in the direction of the TV.

Shit.

"Mateo... don't tell me we're losing..." Sophia hurriedly took the crate from Gio and stored it away.

"It's worse," Mateo gulps with fear. "Penalties."

"Fuck me," Sophia breathes, joining Mateo and Gio at the bar.

"With all due respect, Soph, your dad would kill me."

She elbows Mateo in the ribs. The referee had the two captains together. Busquets and Sommer, Switzerland's goalkeeper. Sophia watched them flip the coin, when something nudged her on the other side. She turns, and Gio was there, with a grin on his face. She frowns and he motions his head in the direction of one of the customer tables, right in front of the TV they were watching closely.

It was a guy. In a chef's uniform. And chef's hat. Sitting with a group of customers, watching the penalties unfold. She initially thought it was Carlos, because he was also called in early to chef. But Carlos had just entered through the bar door to watch with her, Mateo and Gio.

Until she realised.

It was her dad, Vincent. Still in his chef's uniform. Came to watch the show. Completely unfazed about what he was doing while huddled with the random customers.

"What a loser," Sophia laughs with Gio. The restaurant was growing more populated, with loads of people coming in just to stand and zero in on the penalties. People walking amongst the cobbled Andalusian streets outside must have heard their country was going to penalties, seen the TV through clear windows, and took their chances.

That was hardly anything, considering the owner of the restaurant had his arms around the shoulders of two random customers, watching with anticipation.

Busquets was the first to step up.

The whistle blows, he runs up and takes the shot — Sommer dives the other way, —

He hits the fucking post.

The restaurant became populated with groans, Gio blows a long sigh from his mouth, Mateo bangs his head on the counter.

Gavranović for Switzerland. Against Unai Simon.

It was a perfect penalty, and when his clean shot hit the back of the net, the only sound came from the televisions in the room.

Dani Olmo, the Mario Kart expert. He steps up, and when the whistle blows, he hits the ball smoothly. Sommer dives the same way, but it was no good.

He hit the back of the net, and Spain had one penalty to their name, and the restaurant burst into cheers.

Schär for Switzerland. He runs up, and he strikes, and Simon dives the same way —

"SAVED BY UNAI SIMON!"

Amidst the cheering for the slight bit of hope given by Unai Simon, Rodri steps up to take his penalty. He runs up, shooting to the right, but—

"SAVED BY YANN SÖMMER!"

"Dios mio, save us from this," Mateo prays. He'd actually burrowed into Sophia's side, and she puts her arm around him, patting his shoulder.

But then Manuel Akanji stepped up for Switzerland, and—

Unai Simon saved it.

"What are we watching," Gio mutters beside.

Gerard Moreno steps up. Fully confident, he runs at the ball and smashes it into the top-right corner. Sömmer dived the same way, but it was no good, and Spain were leading in penalties.

Sophia makes a mental note to buy Moreno a new hair comb.

Ruben Vargas came forward for Switzerland. But as he ran up and took his penalty, even as Unai Simon came off his line to save it, Vargas sent the ball towards the heavens, anywhere but the back of that net.

The restaurant screamed once more.

"If we make this," Sophia realises. "We're into the semifinals."

At some point, Gio had put his arm around Sophia's shoulders too, stretching out towards Mateo. Nothing more than a comforting gesture, Sophia told herself. Watching Mikel Oyarzabal step up towards the penalty spot, the restaurant was now almost completely populated with Spaniards and alike entering to watch the penalties. Her dad was standing up, both his arms around two random customers. They all looked like they were holding onto each other.

Oyarzabal breaks into a run, and he hits the ball, and—

"SPAIN ARE IN THE SEMIFINALS OF THE EUROPEAN CHAMPIONSHIPS!"

And the restaurant explodes.

With cheers, with people hugging one another; Vincent Diaz, chef and owner of the restaurant everyone was currently in, was embracing as many as he could, cheering in a way no one had seen or expected from a man in his own business.

Mateo engulfs Sophia in a hug, lifting her off her feet, the two yelling into one another's faces. In a moment of pure joy and not caring about the past, Sophia and Gio hug one another too, both stumbling with giddiness.

"What a shame you can't hug Pedri today," Gio sighs. Sophia has to roll her eyes.

"Are you jealous, Giovani? There's plenty to go around."

"Nice of you to offer, b—"

"Did I just hear you correctly?" says Mateo, disbelieving. "De Luca, did you just claim that Soph's hugged Pedri?"

Gio nods.

Mateo looks at Sophia. "Soph, did you really fucking hug Pedri?"

Sophia nods.

Mateo continues, "Pedri González? Barcelona midfielder? Eighteen year old?"

Sophia nods.

Gio, patting Mateo's shoulder, says, "Watch this video, mate."

Gio shows Mateo the video. Presumably the one from Twitter. After watching it, eyes wide, Mateo says, "You hugged Pedri like you know him."

"I did," says Sophia.

"You... you fucking know Pedri?" Mateo questions, in disbelief. "And you didn't tell us?"

"That's what I said!" Gio adds.

"What did you want me to do?" Sophia scoffs, "Flaunt it about like an asshole?"

"That's what I would do!" says Mateo, laughing incredulously. "It's Pedri González. The fuckin' future golden boy. How do you even know Pedri? Like, how does that happen?"

"How does one live in Sevilla all their life and end up a Culér?" Sophia counters.

"Aye, exactly," Gio agrees.

"You support the wrong team in Sevilla, Gio, so don't even," Sophia scoffs, because her and Gio had the ongoing rivalry of supporting opposing Sevilla-based teams.

"You're still not over that," Mateo sighs. Sophia was leaning with her back against the bar, arms folded, and Mateo turns towards her, one hand on the bar. "Soph, talk to me. I'm no analyst but that hug seemed something special. Are you like... are you a WAG? Are you and Pedri together?"

"I'm not a WAG," Sophia rolls her eyes, "And we're not together. It's a really long story, I might tell you during cleanup, but all you need to know for now is we're friends."

"Right," Mateo frowns. He didn't have much time to ponder on it, though, because a queue was beginning to form at the bar.

The door to the bar burst open and Vincent Diaz comes in, taking his eldest daughter in his arms. Without a care that spectators were leaving and making room for actual customers, he plants a kiss on Sophia's forehead, screaming, "VAMOS, NIÑA!"

Sophia laughs giddily, not expecting that — while it is completely normal behaviour for her football fanatic of a father — Vincent tackles Mateo and Gio into a group hug, also kissing their foreheads. It wasn't professional for a restaurant by any means, but Vincent didn't care. Spain were in the semifinals!

Clearing her throat, Sophia moves to put her hand on her dad's arm. "Papa, I love you." She adds, "I think your pizza's burning."

Vincent froze on the spot amongst his excitement. And when the smell of the charring oven came to his senses, the man rushed into the back without a second thought. To Spain or all the weirded out customers watching the exchanges behind the bar.

"I think your dad's a little happy," says Mateo.

"Just a little," Sophia nods.

"That was fun," says Gio, washing his hands to attend to the customers who'd just arrived at the waiting area. "But it looks like I now have something to do. Yell for me if you need anything."

"If Soph's being a pain in the ass," says Mateo, "I'll call you to come flirt with her."

Sophia elbows Mateo hard. "That's not funny and you know it."

But Gio was grinning.

How she wished Gio wasn't grinning.

***

To: Palmero

Me: VAMOOOOOOOS!!!!
Me: felicidades palmero 💙 !!!!
Palmero: gracias princesa 🥲🥲🥲 VAMOOOOS
Me: 📸 photo
Me: in this picture there is a bética, a rojiblanco and a culér. guess which is the culér
Palmero: oh okay damn that's a hard one
Palmero: see the girl with the dark hair and low bun? she looks like she could be a culér but
Me: wow that's a deep take
Palmero: yeah, don't think she's the one though
Palmero: sadly
Palmero: the blonde lad in the middle
Palmero: he supports the right team
Me: you're right in the sense that he supports BARCA
Me: however that's not the right team 👎
Palmero: you broke my heart verdiblanco 💔
Me: just spittin facts💔
Palmero: 📸photo

Me: pedri wtf
Me: why'd you do that
Me: mateo just saw and fainted
Me: I NEED TO CLEAN THE BAR BY MYSELF
Palmero: payback for insinuating barca wasn't the superior team
Me: to be fair you guys haven't exactly been *performing*
Palmero: right you
Palmero: we go to the semifinals and i get THIS treatment?
Me: 🤣🤣🤣
Me: it's all jokes. amazing from you today once again pedri💙
Palmero: gracias sophia 💙 appreciate that
Palmero: but... i believe we had a deal.
Me: deal? what deal? i don't remember any deal
Palmero: 🤨
Me: kidding. i remember the deal 🤣
Me: flight to london booked, spain top packed, and the whole family (including katherine) ready to see you excel vs italy💖
Palmero: fantastic 😌
Palmero: however... hold the thought on your spain top
Me: wdym???
Palmero: all will be revealed 😊
Me: pedri😐❓
Palmero: sophia😉‼️

***

hi guys!! hope we liked that i can't lie i love writing work banter scenes 🤣🤣🤣

also... ik everyone here is team pedri for a reason liek this is a pedri fic an all. but i was listening to red TV while writing this && "babe" and "i almost do" made me think of sophia and gio a lot🥲

as a slight real betis fan myself (barca siempre ofc but betis has connections with my childhood team celtic it's so 🫶🫶) i'm assuming that the rivalry between them and sevilla is quite deep with the minimal research ive done. and also i'm not sure if it's also a weird thing to support a team from ur country that's not ur locals ie mateo supporting barca despite being from sevilla— it's definitely a thing here in scotland liek if ur from dundee supporting motherwell is considered fuckin weird so just deal with me on this one 🤣🤣🤣

araujo going off to celebrate with ter stegen so he wouldn't celebrate dembele's goal from last night alone i had to cry i love these guys SO much

take care angels hope to update soon 💙