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spidybaby · 5 months ago

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hi! pls do something where reader is xavis daughter and shes helpin' him with water and other things at the trainings because shes like grounded but not everyone knows shes his kid and she and pedri become closer and he defend her when one of the team say something cruel to her pls

Sorry my english is not the best is not my first language

Water girl

Summary: The team doesn't know you're Xavi's daughter until Pedri and you begin a relationshp and everything comes to light.

Warnings: cursing, physical altercation, slut shaming.

A/N: This is long, I kinda got inspired and wanted to share something with you. Hope you like it ❤️ love you✨️🌸 @gadriezmannsgirl hi 😛❤️

"You have to be kidding me. There's no way in hell I'm spending my vacation like this." You yell, hurrying upstairs.

The thing about being the kid of an elite football player is that you're not faster than them. They will always win.

You tried to close your door, but Xavi managed to stop it before it closed. "Go away, oh my God."

"That's the good thing about being your father, mi reina. You obey what I say, not the other way around. So go change and meet me in the car."

He slams the door on his way out. But the door is opened again, this time by Nuria. "You better hurry up. He's going to come back and take you to the car even if you're in pajamas."

"Nu, that's totally unfair." You whine, walking to your closet. "Are you seriously allowing this?"

"Don't forget to put on some sunscreen." She waves you goodbye and close the door.

You grab a leggin, an oversized t-shirt, and put on your Jordans. You did put on some sunscreen, not wanting to do anything with your hair, only putting it up.

"Bye, if I die, this is on you guys. Hope you know that." You told your stepmother on your way out. She laughs at your annoyed behavior.

Xavi is waiting on his car. He has this big smile on his face. To you is like he's laughing at you. You walk slowly to the car, making him raise an eyebrow.

"I'm the boss, I can be late if I want to, so don't worry. No matter how slow we are still going to make it." He says as you open the car door.

"Papi, please."

"Let's go, reina."

Having no other option, you hop up. He was giving you a talk about life and having goals. The talk continued until you made it to the training camp.

"Your uncle Oscar is waiting for you. Please go to my office." He says, handing you a "staff" card. "This opens the doors."

You obey, walking the way you already know. The long hallway that only staff members are allowed to be, and different offices, some for the technical team, some for meetings, his office.

You knocked before walking inside, your uncle was on his phone, writing something he was reading on a board.

"Hey."

"Hola, reina." He smiles, leaving what he's doing to get close and hug you. "So happy to see you again."

"Hola, I missed you so much." You hug him back. He was patting your back. "Please help me, I don't want to do this."

The sound of the door opening and laughs saved the moment for you. It was your dad with a blonde lady.

"Oh hello! It's so good to have you back."

"Hello." You smiled, not the best at picking conversations.

"Gosh, Xavi. Your daughter is so big. I remember when I last saw you at your father vows renewal, you were so small."

"This is Martina. She's the boss of the interns and some social media people." Xavi says, you smile again but this time nodding your head. "She will be your boss."

"Your father tells me that you wanted to get something to do now that you're here in Barcelona."

"Yes, something to do." You say sarcastically, Xavi gave you a look. "I'm happy to be here." You lie.

"Well, I need some help in the recovery training. They need someone who helps with the water."

"Like a water girl?"

"Si, you're going to be their water girl."

You nod, eyes on your father, who's smiling in a particular way that's making you angry. "That's great, let's go."

Martina guides you to the little room with coolers, some freezers with ice packs, a bunch of stock of Gatorade, water, and water bottles of the sponsor.

"So, we already fill this one with Gatorade and some wattle bottles from prime, the players who are in recovery have a more private training, so you're with them."

You let her explain to you the training hours, the days the social media girls were there to film and that day you had to bring the prime bottles, the Gatorade thing that makes squishi drinks and how to fill it.

"I want to ask you something."

"Whatever you want, yes?"

"I don't want anyone to know that I'm Xavi's daughter, I want just to be like an intern, maybe?"

Martina nods her head. She gets what you mean, not wanting to be favored. "We can do that." She smiled. "Also, we have these t-shirts for interns to change into, so before going to the training camp, you can change."

You went to the nearest bathroom and changed the oversized t-shirt. Leaving the old one in the little closet because Martina said so.

You grab the small cooler, walking with Martina, who was explaining to you who you were working with. You had to be there the whole training and offer the player some water every two series of exercise.

"You're today with Raphinha and Pedri. So it's going to be easy, they're nice and friendly."

She led you to the training camp, Oscar was helping the two players to warm. He waves you happy, and you return the wave.

"If you need a pointer, Pedri likes blue Gatorade and Raph likes the red one."

"Which one is Pedri?" You ask confused, not really knowing who was who because you weren't used to the team.

"The one without tattoos. I have a meeting with some interns, see you later, hun."

"Okay, have fun in your meeting."

The training was boring, nothing new. They were making a smoother training because of their injuries.

Oscar stands next to you, almost at the middle of the training. "Your dad once brought you to the training. You made everybody do push-ups. He went home super proud about you liking football."

You smile at the story, not really remembering about it. "Uncle Andres used to say I was going to be playing as a forward."

"Nah, you have more as a midfielder."

"What position do they play on?"

"Pedri is a midfielder, Raphinha is a right winger." He points at them once he mentions their names. "Venga chicos, take five and we continue."

You get up from the bench, walking to the players. They were chatting and making jokes.

"Hola, tengo agua." You say awkwardly. (Hi, I got water)

Raphinha laughed at how uncomfortable you look, more used to interns or water girls who were ready to flirt with them.

"First day?"

"Is it that obvious?" You shrug your eyes.

"A little, just used to other type of treatment." He jokes, moving his eyebrows up and down.

You don't know what face you made, but Pedri laughed at your facial expressions.

"Te mandaron a comer papilla." He laughs, hitting Raphinha on his arm. (You were rejected)

"I like you. Can you pass me the red Gatorade?" Raphinha looks at you up and down.

You get both colors, passing one to Pedri as well. He thanked you and smiled a little with you. You go back next to your uncle.

Training was quick. It wasn't like the first team due to their injuries.

You can't help but feel something weird about the job. You haven't been on a training or stadium since you were a kid.

"Hola, oye, puedes darme una botella de agua?" (Can you pass me a bottle of water), he whispers, noticing that you're distracted.

You go back to reality. Nodding and handing him the bottle of water.

"Is it fun working here?" He asks.

"Considering this is my first day like you figure out, I think it's good." You say, half smile on your face.

"Bueno, not all first times are good." He shrugs, smiling at you.

You wanted to laugh, but you just smile and nod. "Yep, that's true."

"Thank you." He hands you the bottle again. Walking back to the field.

🪷🪷🪷

The next days were easy for you. Even when you didn't want to say it, you did enjoy watching them train and do other activities than be home.

You got assigned with the recovery team as long as there were players training.

"For how long are they training like this?" You ask curious.

"Until the medical team tell us that they can train and play with the first team."

"What happened to Pedri?" You say, eyes fixed on his back. He was doing some penalties practice.

"He injured himself a long time ago, and that same injury is coming back now." He says, you nod in response. "Frenkie, don't skip that part, I'm watching you, son."

They do another five rounds until the next break. Pedri walked over to you again. "El calor está." He wipes the sweat with his hand. "How can you look so fresh? It's like hell fire."

"I used to live in Brazil, this is fresh for them." You confess.

"Wow, Brazil." He smiles. "Can I have some water?"

"Two euros per bottle." You joke, handing him the bottle. "And five per Gatorade."

"I don't have change on me, but if I found you after the training, I'll make sure to pay my debt." He smiles, throwing the bottle back in the cooler.

"I'll take that as a promise." You say, returning the smile.

"Maybe you can tell me about Brazil." He says, going back to the middle of the field where Oscar is explaining something to Frenkie.

You check your phone while the training finishes. You texted Nuria what you were doing with a picture of the cooler.

"Reina, go back inside. The weather is crazy hot, and we're almost done. You can leave the cooler."

"You sure?" You ask, leaving your phone. "I can wait."

"Do me a favor, this are notes about today's training, take them to my office and you can go do some other thing."

You nod, leaving the little cooler there and asking him to take care of it, saying you will be back for it.

You walked back to the office. You still have your dad's card from the first day so you can enter every place.

You wanted to stay inside and relax in the air conditioner but you wanted to do a nice job as you were charged.

You go back to the field to collect the cooler and take it to its place. Stealing a Gatorade for yourself while you walk back inside.

"That would be five euros, or do you have a discount?"

You turn to find Pedri smiling. He has a prime bottle in his hands. You smile back, sipping on your drink again.

"It's the payment for our job." You say, sassy teasing tone.

"I thought interns didn't get paid."

"We don't?" You ask, confused. "Well, that's sad."

You pout at the thought of it. He finds that funny because he thought the first thing they told the interns is that they're not getting paid.

"So I own you seven." He jokes.

"Make it twenty, I have to make a living." You shrug smiling. Thing that makes him smile back.

"Twenty and a talk? Or those come with an extra charge." The tone of his voice and the way he's closer than before got you thinking not so good things.

You were about to answer, but a voice calling your name from behind makes you turn back.

"How was your first day?" Martina asks. "Pedri, hola."

"Hola, I was returning the bottle and saying a little thank you for helping with the water today, especially with this weather."

"Super hot." Martina laughs. "So good you had a nice day. Let me help you with the little cooler, and you can follow me."

"Sure," you whisper to her. Turning back to the black hair boy. "See you around." You wave your hand goodbye, following Martina.

She guides you to a room with three other people, all boys. They were seated around a little table talking.

"Hey boys, this is Y/n." She introduces you, you smile waving at them. "She's new, just came and she's our new water girl."

"Hey, that's my job," a blonde guy jokes. "I'm Marcus. This is Pablo, and this is Carlos."

"Hi, nice to meet you all. Sorry about the job, by the way."

"Please explain to her the time slip and Marcus, don't worry, I'll find you a new thing to do."

She left, saying her goodbyes. You stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do know.

"Take a sit, we were chatting about the next game." Carlos pat the chair next to him. "Are you a barca fan or just here for the experience?"

"Here for the experience." You say. "Are you barca fans?"

"Carlos is a Madrid fan but don't tell anybody."

"I'm not, I just said I like Ronaldo more than Messi."

They kept doing jokes about football, you check the time slip on the wall, to your surprise you are on it.

Most of the "soft training" was assigned to you, only two days for the "regular training" that was with the whole team.

"Hey, new girl."

"Si?"

"We have a fifteen minute break. We usually sneak in the kitchen and stole some food."

"I'm in, let's go."

🪷🪷🪷

You helped with ordering the equipment for the first team, putting the cones in order and taking out the bands they used to exercise in duos.

You finished positioning the equipment, leaving the field as the players began walking upstairs.

"Hey, come here." Xavi calls you. You walk over to your dad slowly, noticing him getting impatient. "Can you hurry?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Can you go help your uncle at the gym?"

"Doing what?" You ask funny, "holding the weight while he works out?" You smirk.

"Don't be a smart-ass, reina." He tries not to laugh. "He's helping Pedri and Lewandowski. He needs help with something, I'm not sure."

You nod, walking downstairs and to the gym. After getting into the wrong place for the second time, you knew you had to ask someone.

"Are you lost?" Pedri asks.

You smile at the dark-haired boy in front of you. "Yes, this place is too big."

"Trust me, we all got lost the first week." He laughs at the thought. "Where are you going?".

"The gym, Xavi assigned me to help Oscar."

He points the direction with his head. Making you walk side by side with him.

"Oye, don't think I forgot you own me fifty." You joke. Hitting his shoulder with yours.

"Why is the price increasing by the hour?"

"Why not?" You laugh with him. "But don't worry, after the fifty the talk is free."

"It better be," He jokes back. "Well, here we are."

You walk over to your uncle, asking him how can you help him. He instructed you to help him take time and to write down the weight the players are lifting.

You sat in a machine with a notepad and a chronometer. You were timing every round to help with consistency in the training.

"Be nice with me, please," Pedri says, getting ready to start. "If I fail, you lie and say I'm the best, okay?"

"Don't," Robert interrupts. "If he sucks you can say it outloud. Please."

"Lewa, go away."

Between laughs and jokes of the two players, you finished the rest of the day, Robert and Pedri were easy to be around.

When they finished their work, you got sent back with the other interns, saying your goodbyes to them.

🪷🪷🪷

The three weeks of helping at the club were easy.

You helped the injured guys with the water.

You helped the social media team, and you did a lot of things.

Xavi was impressed that after the first week, you wanted to keep going. He was hoping you would beg him not to take you, but instead, you were waiting for him to go first thing in the morning.

"Y/n, you will be with the first team today. The boys are helping with a project, so you will be alone."

You nod, giving her a thumbs up.

"First time alone with the big team." Marcus says. "If you want advice, do what the Mister tells you. He kinda screams at everybody when the players won't do what he says."

"I'll be frustrated, too." You say, honestly. "I mean, half of them can't even create an opportunity, and when they got an assist, they won't even do anything."

"Yes, but I think Xavi plays a big role into that. Maybe the rumors about him leaving aren't that bad after all."

You shut your mouth, not wanting to say something offensive to him. Your dad gave his heart to the team during very bad times when they could barely afford the players.

"I'm going to the field."

"Don't get defensive," he laughs. "I mean, I get that as a cule you love the old players, but Xavi is a little bit out of date. Like go home, with your wife and your perfect kids."

"Do you ever shut up?" You ask, laughing to make the situation less tense. "Let's not talk about him when we don't even know what his home life is like, and maybe don't do this at work."

"Wow, you're so uptight."

You scuff, walking with the heavy cooler to the field.

When you make it to the stairs, you notice that maybe being alone wasn't that cool. You got to get the cooler upstairs on your own.

A cooler with more than twenty bottles of water on a very large set of stairs. Great idea.

"Do you need help, new girl?"

Raphinha and Fermin got closer. A few of the players behind them.

"Hola. Yes, thank you.

"Raph, grab that side." Fermin says, lifting the left side of the cooler. "Why do they even let you get here all by yourself?"

"I think they didn't think about this part." You shrug.

The two boys helped you. You stayed a little behind due to the social media team filming them doing it.

"Y/n!" Pedri says, grabbing your shoulders. "Hey, thank you for that show recommendation. My brother and I saw it last night, and now I can't wait to go home and see more of it."

You smile at his words. Two weeks back, you exchanged numbers. You were getting closer by the day so you trusted him.

"Well, Pedri." You say, funny tone. "Hello to you too, nice evening. I'm doing so great. Thank you for asking. How are you today?" You smile.

He blushed, he knows you're joking but still feels the blush spreading onto his face.

"I'm doing good." He answers, hands intertwine behind his back. Clearly nervous. "Thank you for asking."

You wanted to keep the conversation, but you two heard Xavi calling the players to warm up.

"Venga, let's go. If not, we're both getting in trouble, me for not hydrating the team and you for not warming up enough."

He liked the way you joke, how your face had the right expression for your feelings. He liked how you treated him like a normal person and not like the footballer.

"What are you doing this weekend?" He asked, making you stop halfway on the stairs. "We have the day off. So I thought that maybe we could go out. I know this place to eat thats amazing and I think you would like it."

You can't help the smile that's on your lips. You liked him, maybe more than you care to admit.

"Looks like now I have a plan." You turn around after that, walking the remaining stairs. Little did he know that you did that for him not to notice your red face. "See you this weekend." You whisper, loud enough for him to hear.

You can tell Pedri is happy. The way he kept looking at you and sending you smiles is something else.

"Hey" you feel someone pocke you in the ribs.

When you turn, you find Marcus. Honestly, he was the last person you wanted to see. After the way he insulted your father, you didn't even want to cross words with him.

"Hey, you guys done with the project?" You ask, eyes watching the other players.

"Yeah, Martina sent us to different places, and I was sent here." He sits at the edge of the cooler. You didn't move, not wanting to have him next to you. "So, the boys and I are doing something this weekend, we were thinking about going out for some food. Would you like to come?"

"I actually have plans, but have fun." You say, very dry tone. "And let's get up, they're almost done and I need to get them some water."

Marcus was that one guy that hits on you and gets offended when you don't even look at him. But he keeps trying, trying again, and trying again.

The other boys were fine, they joke with you, they share stories, they are teammates. Marcus was just not it for you.

"I can help you with that, let me do it." He says, pulling the cooler to the middle of the field without waiting for your answer.

Xavi waved at you to get your attention from one side of the field. You walked to him, eyes turning back to the field to find those brown eyes looking at you.

"Hola, papi." You say, smiling at him. "Do you want some water?"

"I'm fine, reina." He smiles back. "Hey, meet me in my office after practice. I need to talk to you."

You nod. Not thinking much of it. He always had this mysterious behavior about talks, and in the end, it was him asking you to make a reservation at some restaurant or asking you how to send a link to Oscar.

You walked back to the team, Marcus was chatting with Raphinha, leaving the cooler abandoned.

You can't help but exhale exasperated. He was acting like he was everyone's boss. The boys tolerated it, but you didn't have to.

"Oye! I forgot to give my bottle back." You heard, making you turn. "Sorry, I was chatting."

"It's okay, are you done?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask if you have more. I threw half at Pedri." He laughs.

You laugh with him, Ferran was so comic to you. He always messed with other players. Specifically with Pedri, to the point of them not being called out when he did something to him.

"I think we have some extras." You say, checking the cooler and handing him a new bottle. "Just don't shower anymore players."

Ferran was about to answer, but a very entitled Marcus walked by and rudely asked if he was finished.

"She's waiting for me, don't worry." He says in this particular tone that makes you smirk. Marcus just shrugs and leaves. Walking down the stairs. "Is he always like that?"

"Sometimes, I think he thinks that just because he named himself the boss he actually is."

"So we don't like him?" He asks, eyebrow lifted.

"We did, but I don't think we do anymore."

"We good then." He says, making this funny expression. "Thank you. By the way, what flowers are your favorites?"

You were taken aback by the question.

"I think I don't have a favorite set of flowers." You say, thinking about an answer. "I like lilies, but they're not my favorite tho"

"Okay, good to know." He nods. "I have to get back, thanks for the water." He hands you the bottle and runs to where Pedri is.

You can't help the little smile that creeps your face. He was bringing you flowers.

You spend the rest of the training with your eyes sticked to him. The little smiles he sends you and the way Ferran notices and mock him.

When you finish with them, you decide to walk to the little room the club gives to interns. You feel the effects of the new weather coming.

"Why are you here alone?" Marcus asked you. "If you don't have anything to do, I can find something for you to do."

"No need, I have to help Misted Xavi with something." You close your little locker, trying to walk out of the room.

He grabs your arm, stopping you from walking out. "I was thinking, maybe we can hang out some time."

You kindly removed his hand from your arm, smiling so you don't seem rude. "I'm going to be honest with you." You sigh, knowing this was going to be uncomfortable. "I'm not interested. You're not my type. And no, I don't want to create a friendship with you."

The way the smirk he had is now erased from his face, making you want to laugh. Not to be mean, but he was that kind of dude that believed he was above everyone and everything.

Walking out and to your fathers' office, happy about finally letting your feelings out about the whole Marcus situation.

"Well, hello, Mister Xavi." You say, opening the door. Oscar and him are sitting on the couch of his office, Xavi with his head on his hands. "What's wrong?"

They look at each other, but Oscar decided to speak. "Nothing, we wanted to tell you that you can go home early."

You narrow your eyes, that was not something your father was used to do, having a free day? An early out? Noup.

"Papi, are you okay?" you ask, just to make sure you're good to actually go.

"Si, go before I change my mind." he half smiles. "and pick some milk on your way home". He throws the car keys on your way.

"Yes sir, see you later."

You walk fast to your locker, happy that you can leave early. You tell two of the boys that you were let go for the day and said your goodbye to Martina.

You were too busy on your phone to notice Carlos getting something inside his car trunk.

You open the car, sliding into the seat and picking a Playlist. Three bangs on the glass made you let your phone go.

You pull the window down, finding a very smiley Carlos. "Is the Uber available?"

You smile, hand on your chest to calm your heart. "Hola, what do you mean uber? You gave me a ride to the mall the other day." You joke with him.

He became your friend, he was funny and very respectful. He even shares his snacks with you. "Dude, I love your car." He takes a look at the car. "Can I drive it?"

You laugh, knowing you barely even drive it because your dad takes care of it more than he takes care of you.

"Maybe later, I have to go. I got let go."

"You got fired?" He asks, not understanding what you meant.

"No, I mean, I'm going home early. Don't throw me out just yet." You laugh. "Have fun, and don't listen to Marcus."

"I won't, drive safe." He waves as he walks away.

🪷🪷🪷

"Should I wear this or this?" You ask Nuria. She was helping you with your hair. "Or maybe another color?"

She laughs, noticing how nervous you are. "Can you calm down? You will look beautiful and this mystery guy will fall on his knees." She pats your shoulders.

"I just haven't had a date in so long. I'm rusty." You joke, changing your outfit in the closet while she organized your hair tools. "Okay, opinions." You say showing her your full outfit.

She takes your hand, making you turn. "Hermosa." She hugs you. "Maybe to make it a little casual some white sneakers?" She suggests.

You agree with her. Talking while putting your shoes on. You take a last look on your makeup and hair.

"Can you tell me who the guy is? That way, I won't be nervous about you out with a stanger." She smiles, passing you your jacket. "Or can you share your location with me? I won't tell."

"I'll share the location." You say, grabbing your phone to do it. "Plus, I'm taking your car, so if the date goes downhill, I'll come back."

"Take care, and please call me if anything. Also, don't hesitate to use the pepper spray I bought you. And have fun." She rambles, making you laugh.

You sent her a kiss as you walked out the door. You texted Pedri that you were on your way, and he texted back saying he was almost there.

You were nervous about the date, not because of Pedri but because you were scared of messing up. Plus, he didn't know who you really are.

You park, walking to the host and telling her Pedri's second last name, he uses that name yo avoid people finding he's there. Even tho you'll only need to know the barca team and recognize him.

"Hola." You say, hands on his shoulders. He jumped a little. "Sorry, didn't meant to scare you."

"You didn't, hola." He hugs you, turning to grab the bouquet of flowers. "This is for you. Hope you like them."

Lilies.

Just like you told Ferran.

"Thank you, this is so cute." You smile. When you grab the back of the chair to move it. He does it for you. "Gracias, Pedri." You smile at him.

"You look preciosa." He thinks outloud. When he notice the blush on your cheeks and how you are avoiding his gaze. It's when he notice he said that and not only thought it.

"I like your hair today, I like it when you don't blow dry it." You joke with him.

You two joke a little, ordering some food. He recommended you a dish a d a drink, you let him do the ordering.

"This is so good."

"I knew you would like it." He smiles. "How is your dish?"

"Delicious, want a bite?" You ask, and before he could answer you, you grab some of it with your fork. "Open your mouth."

"Fuaa." He says, head thrown back. "That's great. Taste mine."

He repeats your action, feeding you with his food for you to taste it. "Yummy." You smile.

You two talk a about your hobbies, your music taste. Random things you would talk about, nothing crazy.

"And my parents have a restaurant, so mom cooked the croquettes for me all the time." He tells you the story of his favorite food. "And now I miss it cause I want it but I can't have it like I used to."

"I never had croquettes in my life." You confess. "I like seafood. In Brazil, I used to eat a lot of shrimp and fish. Loveeeee fish."

"Why did you come back?" He asks. "Or are you from there?"

"I was born here, actually." You began the story. "But my parents separated when I was seven, and my mom took us to Brazil two years later."

"So you spent most of your life in Brazil?"

"It's complicated. My dad and mom got into a custody battle, and I was with her from nine to fifteen. Then I was forced to come back but only for a few months cause I was sent to a boarding school in Switzerland."

"And how did you end as a intern imfor Barça?"

"My dad forced me. He was teaching me a lesson. And he knows Martina, so it was easy."

"Oh." He says. He was speechless at how crazy your life sounds. "If I can say something, I'm glad you are here."

You smile, "Thank you, I'm happy I'm back, and I'm happy to be here with you."

It's his time to blush. He really likes you. Without Ferran's encouragement, he would have never asked you out. He was nervous and awkward about it.

"Do you want dessert?" He asks, noticing you finish your drink. "Other drink?"

"You want me full tonight, sir." You laugh, making him laugh. "I'll have some if you do."

"You are making me break my diet." He laughs. "Fine, let's get those desserts."

The rest of the dinner was fine. You two had fun talking and telling stories of things that happened to you as kids.

"Are you sure you don't want to split the bill?" You ask one more time.

"Not at all, it's on me, you did your part whe you got pretty for this." He smiles.

The blush that creeps into your cheeks is crazy. You can feel your whole face burning up from the feeling.

"Did you drive here?"

"Yes, don't worry. Thank you very much for this." You hug him. "Can we do this again? I really want to see you again."

He's taken aback from your honesty. He likes that. "Si, I want that too." He smiles. "Do you like going to the movies?"

"Love doing that."

"Want to go to the movies to see this new Ryan Gosling movie?" He walks you to your car.

"Si, text me the details." You hug him again. "Popcorn is on me," you say, kissing his cheek. You enter your car. He was kinda petrifie. Hee wanted to react. "Pedri," you call him.

He comes back to the real world. "Si, bonita?"

"Tell me when you are home." You say, pulling up your window.

He waited to be in his car to freak out about how you kissed his cheek and how you asked him on a second date.

He drives home happy, ready to call Ferran and tell him all about it. How you liked the lilies, how you enjoyed food, and how you even have a second date.

When you got home, Nuria and you went to your room and you told her everything, showed her your bouquet of flowers and even told her that you have a second date with him.

🪷🪷🪷

Your situationship with Pedri was better than you expected. It's been an ongoing this for a few months now. It's the perfect time to get to know him and for him to get to know you.

You two meet up after club hours. You even began going to some of the games to support him.

As a joke, Ferran gave you a shirt with his number. Making you and Pedri laugh. You use it because it makes Pedri smile every time he watches you there, knowing you follow Ferran and his crazy idea.

Carlos knows about you and Pedri. He's your friend, you trusted him with the information and he asked you in exchange a bag of gummy bears to not tell.

He wears Pedris number for you. And he became friends with Pedri and Ferran. You four are like a nice group.

You were organizing the water closet with Carlos. Talking about music and about this new show that he's seeing.

"And this girl, she's the starting." He explains. "She has a secret romance with one of the higher-ups. Just like you." He pokes you.

"Want me to give you a speaker so you can say it louder?" You hit his arm lightly.

"Are you going on a date with him tonight?"

"I am. We are going to watch something, probably."

"If you watch the movie I recommend you. Please do a review without spoilers for me tomorrow." He says, passing you a bottle of Gatorade.

Marcus was hearing the conversation. Martina sent him to grab you for a quick meeting. But he couldn't help but hear your conversation.

"Are you coming to the game this weekend?" You ask. "He wants me here, and I don't want to be alone."

"Are you getting me popcorn?"

"Yes." You say, laughing and rolling your eyes. "I dont know if I'm nervous because this game can get us La Liga or because his family may be there."

"Maybe both?"

"Si, maybe both." You say, finishing with the work. "We are done."

Marcus hears this and walks like he just got there.

"Hey guys, sorry to interrupt. Martina wants us to have a quick meeting." He smiles. "I thought you were organizing the equipment."

"No, we are here today." Carlos answers. "Let's go."

Marcus was curious. Who was the person you were "dating." Probably someone married if you are talking about his family being there.

After the meeting, you got a text from your dad, asking you to come to his office to talk about something.

"Hola pare, em necessitaves?" (Hi dad, did you need me?) You speak to him in catalan.

"Hola, Reina." He hugs you. "How's work?"

"Good, I restocked the water closet. We have fresh water bottles. And I had a meeting about a thing Martina wants us to do."

"Great, that's fine."

You squinted your eyes. He was up to something. "Dad, anything you want to ask me or tell me?"

He rolls his eyes. "Can't a father make conversation with his firstborn?"

"Xavier?"

"Promise me you won't be mad at Asia."

You know what is coming. You heavily exhale. "Go on."

"A little bird, named Asia. Told me you are dating someone."

"Dad, this is work." You laugh. "Plus, I'm not."

You were honest, Pedri, and you weren't dating. You were acquaintances who happened to enjoy each others company.

"Okay." He laughs. "We can play the we are at work thing."

You don't notice how the door is open, thinking everybody is doing something more important than walking around.

But Marcus wasn't. He was walking around trying to find Oscar to talk to him about being able to go to the game for free as a part of the club workers. But when he heard your voice and Xavi's, he stayed.

"I wanted to tell you this when we were at dinner, but I feel like I can do it. I'm going to the game." You tell him.

Your dad loves it when you come to his games. It makes him think of you as a little girl wearing his jersey.

"Nuria and the kids are coming too."

"The kids too?" You ask, confused. "Don't they have to go with their grandparents?"

Marcus raises his eyebrows. His wife and kids are coming. You and him will have dinner together.

Then it clicks, you were talking about Xavi. And Carlos knew about you and him.

"Anyways, I have to go." You say, getting up and walking to his mini fridge. "I'm taking one of your special drinks. After all, I earn it."

You two laugh, you hug your father. "Back to work. I don't want my father to find out I'm not working." You joke.

"I'm sure he won't mind. You are with the Mister, he will understand."

"Yeah, you don't know him." You tease him. "But you'll like him, maybe we can arrange a meeting, sir."

"Go to work, reina." He laughs, shaking his head while he does it.

Marcus hides in an office, waiting a few minutes before going out. He was mind blowned, you were having something with Xavi.

He walks back to the comune corridors. Not paying attention to his surroundings, the only thing in his mind was this new information.

For you, it was all flowers, dreams, happy days.

You get to see the person you like every day, you get to spend at least a little bit of time with him.

"Stop, you need to train." You say to pedri, who's too busy kissing you and hugging you. "Pepi, stop it." You giggle.

"Why?" He pouts. "One more, and I'm leaving."

"No, guapo." You try to push him. But he brings you back to him. "You are going to be late." You say.

He grabs your cheeks, kissing you goodbye. You hug his body. Loving the way this feels. The way his lips dance with yours and the way your tongues mix just makes sense.

When he separates to take air, you place your hand on top of his mouth. Blocking him from kissing you again.

"You have to go." You whisper breathlessly. "The Mister will be mad at you."

He kisses the top of your forehead. Eying the clock on the wall. He really needs to go. "I'll see you tonight?" You nod, still catching your breath. "Okay, I'll see you then" He kiss your cheek and pulls away.

You wait a few minutes before coming out of where you two were hiding. Walking to the interns room.

Marcus was there. He eyed you from head to toes. "Hello." You say. He only smiled. He still had a bone to pick with you from the way you rejected him.

"So, are you coming to the game?" He asks.

"Yeah, I got tickets. Are you?"

"Don't know, still deciding."

You nod, not wanting to keep the conversation. You walk over and find Carlos waiting with the coolers with you.

"Can you be more late?" He plays with you.

"Shut up and work bitch." You joke.

"Hmmm." He shakes his head. "Says the one who was tonguing her boyfriend on the janitors closet."

"I hate you." You side eye him. He laughs and walks away with a cooler. "And he's not my boyfriend." You whisper to him as you enter the field.

"Okay." He pauses, thinking. "Your fuck buddy?"

"He's not my-" You hit his arm. "He's not my fuck buddy." You whisper.

"So you haven't fuck him?"

You blush at the question. You did sleep with him, but he wasn't your fuck buddy or anything like that.

"So you did fuck him." Carlos laughed. "If he is not your boyfriend then you are fuck buddies until he asks you out formally."

You stayed quiet for the duration of the training. Until it was time to offer the guys some water. Carlos was right. He wasn't your boyfriend, but you were having sex and doing things couples do.

"Let's go."

You walk over to the guys with the vest. It was easy that way, since they all stayed together to plan a strategy.

You are thinking still. They players are grabbing their waters and talking to themselves. You turn your head to the other part of the team.

Pedri was looking at you, you smile at him. Ferran sees this and decides to tease him. The others think it is just him playing, but it was more than that.

"Distracted much?" Raphinha asks, smiling at you. "You okay?"

You nod. "Just thinking." You say honestly.

"Don't tire your mind." Lewandowski says.

"Easy for you to say, you can take your thoughts away by playing."

"A piece of advice, if it can be solved then you don't have to worry about it. Think about how you are going to solve it and do it."

"And if it doesn't have a solution?" You ask Lewa.

"Then don't think about it." He smiles again. "If you can fix it, learn from it and move on."

You nod, thanking him for the advice. "More water before I go?" You ask, hearing Oscar blow the whistle.

"Noup." He throws the bottle back into the cooler.

You go on with the day, not thinking much of the situation. It has a solution, and you can resolve it.

You sit next to your dad for dinner. Texting pedri carefully that as soon as dinner is over, you will meet him up.

"I can't wait to see you at the game. I have a good feeling about it."

You smile, letting him and Nuria do the talking. You eat some pieces of your food, feeling nauseous and tired.

"What's going on with you?" Xavi asks. "You are not the type to leave food."

Before you answer, Asia decides to intervene. "She has the love syndrome."

Both Asia and Dan decide to make kiss noises and throw jokes at you about your love life.

"Stop it, kids." Nuria laughs. "Are you okay?"

"Si." You nod. "Just tired. Maybe I'm coming with a cold." You lie.

"Then take a seat next to the dog because I don't want to get a cold too." You dad jokes. Getting up to take his plate to the sink.

You roll your eyes. "Can I use your car? I want to visit Karlie." You lie again.

"No drinking and driving." He says, stern tone. "Please don't come back at like three in the morning." He throws the keys at you.

You nod, taking your plate to the sink and going upstairs to brush your teeth. You fix your hair before going back down. "Bye, I'll be here in a bit."

You arrive at his house. You two meet up there because you haven't revealed that your father is Xavi Hernández.

He kisses you hello and takes you to his room. He has some candy and Amazon Prime open for you to pick any movie you want.

The movie goes unnoticed by you. The words of Carlos and Lewandowski are taking all your mind. You grab the controller, pausing the movie.

"What are we?" You ask, very straightforward.

Pedri chokes on his gummy bear. "Qué?"

"What are we?" You repeat. Louder this time.

He's trying to think about what to say. He doesn't even know what you two are. You have no labels.

"Are we just fuck-buddies?" You ask.

"No." He quickly answers. "You are more than just that." He says.

"What more?"

He tries to find the right words. He doesn't want you to feel scared if he confesses all his feelings for you.

And he also doesn't want to run when maybe you want to walk. He wants to make you feel comfortable.

"I want us to be more than just friends." He says.

"We are." You say, serious tone. "We fuck, we kiss, we cuddle in bed while we watch a movie, you introduce me to your brother."

"Listen, Y/n." He sits. "I want more than that. I just thought that maybe you would be more comfortable like that."

"Why?"

"Huh?" He's confused. What do you mean why?

"Why did you think that?"

"I'm a footballer." He spat. "And to be honest, a Google search will show you that the media thinks I'm a fucking womanizer. Girls here and there when, in reality, I don't even go out to get groceries."

You smirk at that. He was a very home orienteded guy. "I don't believe in rumors, I believe you."

"And I'm happy about it." He grabs your hand and kisses it. "I like you a lot. You are not just someone I have sex with and then leave. I do want more."

You grab his face, kissing him. You wanted more than just friendship too. You wanted to move forward with the relationship.

"Ask me then." You smile.

He laughs, if there's something he loves about you is how straightforward you are. You are not afraid of saying anything.

"Y/n, preciosa mía." His arms hug your waist. "Will you honor me by letting me be your boyfriend?" He smiles, eyes shining.

You smile too, watching every detail about his face, the way his smile is reaching his eyes, the way his hair looks, the way he smells.

"Let me think about it." You joke, making him pull you down to the bed with him.

"Preciosa, venga, no bromees." He kiss you.

"I will honor you." You say, smiling like crazy. "I really like you too, and I'm happy right now." You laugh, grabbing his cheeks and kissing him.

You two spend the rest of the movie like that, kissing here and there, paying more attention to each other than to the movie.

"Wear my jersey to the game." He requests. "I want my girlfriend to wear my number on her back. It will be like a motivation."

You nod, smiling at him. You were planning on wearing it anyway. You wanted him to notice how much support he has on you.

You checked the time, it was past midnight. "I have to go. My dad will be pissed if I don't."

"No." He hugs you, getting on top of you. "Stay here."

You laugh. "Pepi, if I don't get home as soon as possible, I don't think I'll be allowed to go to the game anymore."

He sighs, kissing you quickly before letting go. He walks with you to your car. "Call me when you are home and drive safe."

"I always do." You say cocky, making him smile. His head gets in the car for him to be able to kiss you. "Adiós."

🪷🪷🪷

The game wasn't as good as you expected. The team lost, and with the loss, they gave Real Madrid the Liga trophy. Now there's only hopes for the second place.

Xavi was mad, you can tell by the look on his face and how he stormed out to the dressing room.

You knew this was a bad moment to the players. They all look sad and stressed. But you can't blame Xavi. They don't even work as a team anymore.

Carlos and you walk into the tunnel. You had access to those areas due to the security guys recognizing you from working there.

You wanted to wait to at least talk to Pedri, check if he's fine in person, and not over text. "I'll wait here. If you want to you can go."

"Okay, see you tomorrow then." You kiss his cheek goodbye.

You sat in one of the benches at the corridor. Checking your phone to see what people are saying on X.

You feel angry at how people blame your father. He wishes to be able to go into the field and play for them but he can't.

After all, he was a barça legend, and they are just teenagers and adults acting like five years old who can't make a team with the others.

Goundogan and Araujo fighting. Ter Stegen is saying Xavi doesn't need to call out players after losing a game. It was a shit show.

You heard the dressing room opening. Your father walks mad, his belongings in hand. You stand up and try to talk with him.

"Not right now." He says, deep mad voice.

You only nodded, taking a seat at the bench again. You want to do more, but you can't even begin expressing how much you this situation hurts you.

Some of the players began leaving. Some waving goodbye to you. Thinking you are there as a job and not just to watch the match.

Ferran walks out, head low and earphones in. You grab his shoulder. "Hey." You say even tho he can't hear you.

He takes his earphones out to greet you. "Hey." He sighs. "What a shit show, isn't it?" He laughs.

"It's okay, it's just a bad moment." You hug him and say goodbye to him.

"Pedri is inside, he's taking a shower."

You text him telling him that you were waiting for him. You walk to the interns room to pick something from your locker.

After all, that was one of the only rooms that didn't have a lock. You walk and see Marcus and Raphinha talking.

They both look at you, but Raphinha's gaze was a weird one. You can't pick it. Maybe it was his humor after the lost.

"I just want something from my locker." You walk quick and open it. "Sorry about the lost, Raph." You say, pulling the item and closing the locker door. "Bye."

Pedri texted you to meet him at the parking lot. He was out of the dressing room and walking over there.

You do as he told you. Meeting him there. He was inside his car, doing something on his phone.

You knock on his window. He opens the passenger seat door for you. "Hola." You whisper, not sure how to approach him.

"Xavi told us he's leaving." He confess. "And my family couldn't come."

"Pepi." You sigh. Hugging him and kissing his cheek. "I'm so sorry about today. If it makes you feel better, I think you played better than anyone else." You kiss his nose. Making him smile.

"Thank you for being here." He poses his head on your shoulder. "Want to go get something to eat? I feel like having something bad." He laughs.

"Whatever you want, guapo." You kiss him. Hands squishing his cheeks. "Let's go."

Yourusername has added to her story

"I feel like this season is just too much for us." He says, eating his fries. "We are falling apart."

"The whole Ronald and Gundo thing is just dumb, I will take Gundo's advice. He was in ManCity and they are champions."

"But I can't blame him. Maybe the delivery wasn't the best." He says, thinking about the situation. "And I think Xavi and Oscar weren't doing their best."

"What are they doing wrong?" You ask curious. He was one of the few playes that did what Xavi and Oscar asked him to do. "I mean for what I see at the training, he is giving instruction, explaining how to create opportunities and then at the game Lewandowski and Raphinha do the opposite."

Pedri wasn't surprised at your football talk, he find it amazing when you first gave him advice, and now he asks for feedback.

"You have the most assists this season of La Liga, and the majority of those were lost opportunities. At this point, the only thing that can save you guys is if Oscar and Xavi get in the field with you during the games."

"Bueno, if you put it like that, then yes." He scratched his head. "That water job of yours is giving you too much to fight me for." He laughs

"It's not my fault I can take the instructions better than your teammates." You laugh back. "But I know Xavi thinks you are one of the best elements of the team." You say, head over his shoulder.

You weren't lying. Your father was happy with him, maybe wanting to correct little things, but seeing the big picture, he was the perfect successor of Andres."

"I'll believe you." He kisses you. "Want me to drop you home?" He says, finishing his meal.

"My stepmother will pick me up from your home, she's just a few blocks away."

You still have to tell Pedri about your dad. When he told you that Xavi announced the possibility of leaving, you already knew.

He talked about it with Nuria and your siblings. Letting you know before anyone else, LaPorta, the players, the press.

"Why do I feel like you don't want me to know where you live?" He asks, curious about why his house was the only place you two meet.

"I do, it's just complicated."

"You dad doesn't know we are together?"

"He knows I'm with someone, but right now, he's dealing with work issues." You didn't lie. He was. Pedri knows but he doesn't know he knows.

"Okay, I trust you." He says, resting his hand on your thigh.

You texted Nuria, letting her know that you will be at his place in about five minutes, for her to pick you up.

Just like Pedri, Nuria didn't know the reality of your relationship. She thinks he is someone you met around, maybe at a party. Not a player from your father's team.

When you get the text saying she's outside, you stand up, ready to leave. "She's here, adiós, guapo."

But he has other plans. He stood up, grabbed your wrist and walked to the door with you.

"I want to say hi." He says. Walking hand in hand with you, happy to be able to meet someone from your life.

You stop, he will recognize Nuria if he sees her. "Pedri, no." You pull him to you before he reaches the door. "My stepmother is kinda delicate."

"Y/n, be honest." He frowns. "Tell me if you don't want me to meet your family. You know my brother and I want you to know my parents."

You think for a moment, you do want him to meet Nuria and your father. Not like his trainer, just as your father.

"The thing is, I'm planning a dinner with my family and you. And I want it to be perfect and for you to meet them calmly and not at the street."

"You promise is that?" He pouts.

"Let's do this. You have three days off for the next match that is on Friday. Let's do the dinner on Saturday so you don't stress about the game. Deal?"

He smiles, nodding excited about the idea. "Deal." He says, hugging you. "I was so scared of you being embarrassed of me or something."

"What?" You laugh. "Eres tan tonto, it's not that. You know that now."

He nods. Kissing your lips. "Go, she will get mad from waiting."

You kiss him again. Telling him a quick goodbye. When you get to the car, Nuria is watching you all smiles.

"What?" You ask her.

"Nothing I just love seeing you so happy, I'm a fan." She laughs, making you laugh. "I need you to tell me when are we meeting him."

"You are lucky, I invite him on Saturday, so your job is to keep my dad happy." You joke.

"Well, I have all morning to make him feel less angry if the game goes downhill."

"Let's hope it doesn't." You beg.

🪷🪷🪷

You can't deny you will miss working at the club when the season is done. You learned to like the job and you have fun with the guys, even with Marcus.

"I'm going to miss organizing this and stealing Gatorade." Carlos says. Drinking the last bit of the drink.

"Can't you get one at the store?" You joke.

"It will not be free. Duh!"

"You want to know what else is free?" You ask. When he nods you get close to him. "Our labor here." You whisper.

He laughs so hard that some of the players that are walking past to the camp turn to see you. "I want to know the joke, tio." Sergi jokes. "Also, if you can pack a purple Gatorade, I'll really appreciate it."

You pass the training talking about random things. Pedri was looking at you from time to time.

He told you how a little anxious about meeting your family. You were too, you hoped he would understand your reasoning.

"I don't know how you two haven't been caught. He can't keep his eyes away from you." He says, noticing how the canary looks at you every five seconds. "But to be honest, when we first started every player was looking at you."

"Maybe that's why they don't allow female interns." You laugh.

You finish the training between jokes. The few last trainings were always the best. The vacation spirit was hitting the players.

You returned both coolers. When you were about to leave, you saw Raphinha reclined into the doorfr. "Hello to you too, kitty girl."

"Hola." You say. "Do you want something?"

"Can't a man just get a talk?" He jokes.

You nod. "How are you?"

"I can be better." He walks closer, maybe a little too much for your liking. "I want to ask you something." When you don't answer, he decides to keep talking. "I got told a little story about you. And I'm interested in it."

You narrow your eyes, nodding your head to indicate him continue with the story.

"I know how hard it must be to work as hard as you do, with all this ahit show, organizing stupid bottles. Look, I don't blame you for what you do here. But someone as pretty as you can get better things from someone like me. No need to fuck old flesh for some cash." He says, posing his hands on your waist.

You push him away, "What the fuck are you even implying?" You have a stern tone. "Don't ever touch me again. You are disgusting."

"Such a prude now, huh?" He laughs. "We all know what you do. It's no secret. I'm just taking my chances to be the next one in line." He tries to get closer again. "I can fuck you better than him, let's be honest."

Your hand hurts from how hard you hit his cheek. Making his face turn. "Você é uma pessoa nojenta, fique longe de mim." (You are such a disgusting person, get away from me), you say, pushing him to get out of the room.

His hand grabs your arm. Pulling you back. "Você age como uma puritana, mas você é uma prostituta." (You act like a prude but you're a whore)

"You have a wife and a child." You remind him. "And you are here accusing me of something I don't even know about. You are disgusting."

"I'm not the one fucking someone from the club." He laughs. "You are."

"I held your son while Natalia, your wife, was using the bathroom. She was telling everybody how happy she was that she was visiting. And you act as if she's nothing. You dont deserve her." You say, taking his hands off of your body, "I'm telling you this only once. So you better listen. Don't mess with me because I'm not the one. You have no idea the kind of power I have. Stay away from me, or I'm telling everybody what you did."

He lifts his hands. Looking at you with a mad stare. You feel like crying, but you won't in front of him. "Move, deixe-me ir." (Let me go)

He moves to the side. You run, wanting to go home. You go to the interns room, searching for you things in your locker.

Your hands are shaking. You can't even get the key into the lock. Three knocks on the door got unnoticed by you.

"Hey, Y/n?" You heard Ferran's voice. "Are you okay?"

He walks over to you, and he places his hands on your arm and back, but you back up. "Don't touch me." You shout at him, moving away from his touch.

You don't mean to do it, but you can't even think straight. "It's okay, deep breaths." He says, hands motioning you to take a breath. "Yeah, that's it. Do it again." He says, he backs a little from where you are.

You take a few breaths, feeling yourself calming down. You hated the feeling of being uncappable of defending yourself.

"That's it." Ferran cheers you. "Here, I have a napkin on me. Don't ask." He hands you the napkin. You smile at his joke.

"I'm sorry for shouting." You say, voice shaking. "I just, I want to go home." You whisper, feeling the tears fill your eyes.

"Can I come closer and give you a hug?" He asks, you nod. He hugs you, one hand on your shoulders and the other on your head, pushing it against his chest. "I don't know what happened, but if you need a friend. I'm here."

You hug him back. You really needed a hug. "Gracias." You say, "Where did you get the napkin, tho?"

"I hide a cookie." He confess. That makes you laugh a little. "Hey, you laughed."

You separate from him. "Thank you, Ferran." You smile. He asked you for the key to the locker, opening the lock for you.

You grab your things. And he locked it again. "Do you need want to go? I can call you an Uber, I don't have my phone but it's in the dressing room. In my station."

You smile. Shaking your head. "I just need to find Martina and tell her I'm leaving." You say, walking to out of the door with him. "Hey, you wanted something. Can I help you before I leave?"

Ferran feels sad. You grow a friendship with him. You are someone very calm, and he can tell something might have happened for you to react the way you did.

"Don't be silly. Let's find Martina."

"It's okay, I know where she is. Thank you for helping me. I'll go by myself."

"You sure?"

You nod, giving him one last hug. "Bye."

You walk to the office where Martina is, she's always there with the social media manager. You knock to see if she was there.

"Come in."

You open the door, finding Raphinha talking with her. Both of them laughing and joking about something.

"Hey, is everything alright?" She asks when she sees your red face. "What happened?"

You lock eyes with Raphinha, he has a smirk, like if the situation was funny to him. You want to grab your bag and hit him.

"Si, I just want to know if I can leave early. I don't feel well and I want to go home."

"Oh honey, is there something I can help you with?"

"Si, can we help you?" He asks.

"It's just an allergy reaction, and I feel like I should probably rest a little." You lie, looking at Raphinha while doing it with a disgusted face.

"Go home and rest, if you want to, don't come tomorrow. I have those reactions, too, and it's the worst."

"Will do, thank you for understanding. Goodbye." You wave at her, walking outside the door, but you turn to say something."Oh, Raphinha."

"Si?"

"Lembre-se do que eu lhe disse. Fique longe de mim." (Remember what I told you. Stay away from me.) You smile. "Been practicing my Portuguese." You say to Martina, who smiles at you, not understanding anything you just said.

You went home, thankful that Nuria was out at an event, and you can cry in peace in your room. You turn your phone off, not wanting to deal with anything and just staying in bed until you have the strength to get up.

Ferran told Pedri what happened, the way he found you. He called you five times and texted you another few more. But nothing. You were mia.

He spent the rest of training worried about you. He wanted to know what happened for you to be crying and left early.

Once he's home, he can concentrate on anything, checking his phone every minute to see if the message was delivered.

That's when he remembered, you sent him over text your address for the dinner with your parents. Telling him that you did it because later on, you would forget.

He grabs his keys and drives over to your house. He didn't care if he looked imprudent. He needed to make sure you were okay.

"Y/n, are you sure you don't want to talk?" Nuria asks again. She can't help but wonder why your eyes were puffy and you were sad. "I won't tell."

"It's nothing." You answer. "I'm just taking a shower, just in time to eat dinner with you. Deal?"

"Okay, if you need me, I'm here." She hugs you. "I'm going to get some takeout, I feel like that will make you feel better."

You nod, thanking her and closing your bathroom door and taking a very hot shower. You needed that. You bring your alexa to the bathroom and ask her to play something while you shower.

Pedri was impatient, the traffic was making him bounce his knee. He wanted to be able to just drive over all these people.

He tries to call you one more time, with no answer. Your phone was still off. He wanted to know if you were okay. Just that.

"Y/n?" Asia asks, knocking on your door. "When mom returns, we will make your favorite brownies to make you feel better."

You smile, you know they want you to be okay no matter what happened. "Thank you, A. I'll help you. Just let me change, and I'll go to the kitchen."

You change into some bikers and a plain shirt. Or as you like to call it, your lazy outfit. You dry your hair, not wanting to deal with the freez later.

While your blow dryer is on and alexa is playing something in the bathroom. Xavi and Nuria got home.

"Marcela told me that it was an allergic reaction. That's what she said."

"I think there's more. Plus, she looks fine, not a single red mark on her face from allergies. Maybe talk to her later."

You finish with your hair. You wait for Nuria to be back or call you to go down. You charge your phone even though it's off.

You put your hair in a ponytail, completing the lazy look with your sleepers from a hotel that you went to a few years ago.

While you wait in your bed, Pedri drives into the community where you live, the security guy recognized him and asked for a photo.

He let him go past the gate since he was a known person. Thing that makes him laugh. He follows the gps to your street.

He parks in front of what he thinks is the right house. He walks over to the door and ring the doorbell.

"Xavi, please open the door. I'll go get the kids." Nuria says, walking upstairs.

Xavi walks to the door. When he opens it, he finds Pedri. "Pedri, tío. What are you doing here?"

Pedri is as confused as his trainer. He doesn't understand what happened and how he ended at Xavi's house.

"Hey, Mister. I think I got my gps confused. But it's nice to see you. Sorry about the press thing today. We were all confused and mad."

"It's okay, you guys worry too much about me." He laughs. "Venga, come inside." He moves for the midfielder to get in. "Are you hungry? We are about to eat."

"I don't mean to bother." He smiles. "I think when Lewandowski sent us the address to your home for lunch, it got overlapped with the one I was looking for."

"Happens to me all the time." He laughs, making Pedri laugh. "But you don't bother, honestly. Have some dinner with us."

Pedri agrees. He thinks this is a bad coincidence, but he will use it to maybe talk with Xavi before he leaves. Thank him for everything.

"Pedri, this is Nuria, my wife." He introduces him to his wife. "Nuria, this is Pedri. He's number eight. A good kid. I invited him over."

"Hola, that's so great. Please take a seat. Our kids will be with us in a moment."

"I'm sorry about coming without notice. I got the address wrong. I was looking for someone who lives in the same neighborhood."

The sound of children interrupts the talk. "Mom, did you get the brownie stuff?"

"Asia, come here, baby. This is Pedri. He is a football player at the club." The little girl waves.

"Do you work with dad?"

"I do." He smiles. "He's the best, you are lucky yo have such an amazing dad."

"He's cool." She says, looking at xavi. But he's not allowed to make brownies with us. He burns them."

"Are you making brownies?" Pedri asks. Trying to make conversation with her. "That's yummy."

"Yes, it's for my sister. She's feeling blue."

"That means you are a very nice sister. I have a brother named Fernando. When I'm blue, he hits me in the head." He makes the little girl laugh.

"My other two are somewhere in the house." Xavi explains. "Actually, how old are you?"

"I'm twenty-one."

"My oldest is twenty. Almost the same." He passes the plate to Pedri. "You probably recognize her. She's helping at the club."

"Really?" He asks, confused. "Didn't know that."

The laughs of a boy can be heard. Pedri is trying to remember if he knows who Xavi's daughter is.

"Reina, come here." Xavi says, waving you to come over.

You have your brother in your arms, laughing with him. "Yes, sir?" You ask, laughing.

Pedri feels how his body tenses at the sound of your voice. And you stop laughing once you see him sitting at the table.

"Pedri, this is Y/n and Dan. She works as an intern. She helped us with the water and stuff. "Y/n, I think you already know Pedri."

"I do." You say, putting your brother down, your eyes never leaving his. "Hi, Pedri."

"We know Pedri, he plays for barça." Dan says, making Pedri smile at him.

"Well, everybody got food. Let's sit down and eat." Nuria says, leaving the salad on the table. "Hey, you feeling better?"

You nod at her question. You wanted Pedri to find out about your dad but not like this. Not after the day you have.

"Y/n, take a seat." Asia asks

The only plate left was in the seat next to Pedri. You sit down, he looks at you. You are not sure what the emotions his eyes are showing are.

Xavi asks Pedri different things, talking about his family. He met Pedri's parents during one celebration at the club.

"So you two know each other?" Nuria asks Pedri and you.

You look over at him. "We do." You answer. You can see his smile. "When I got to the club, he was training after an injury, and I was assigned to be the water girl for that training." You smile.

"Yes, she was very shy and weird the first day." He laughs, making you laugh. "When she got moved to the whole team, the first times she just left the cooler and moved."

"I did not." You say. "Ferran and him were throwing water at each other." You say to Nuria. "I was scared of getting wet."

"I can admit I once used her as a shield." He laughs. "It was funny."

Nuria looks between you two. The way you smile at each other and they way you look at him.

The dinner went well. Pedri and Dan clicked in a way that any other guest at your house ever did. Asia invited him to make the brownies with you. Uninviting Nuria from the equation.

"Y/n, can you help me with something?" She calls you. You were searching for the ingredient.

"Si. Dan, please help me with the ingredients, okay baby?" You gave him the list of things.

Nuria and you walk into the laundry room. "Okay, confess." She says. Looking at you with narrowed eyes.

"What?" You asks, confused about what she's talking about. "Context, please?"

"I have a theory." She began. "Is that you are overly friendly with Pedri, and you are ten times more clingy and needy with your boyfriend. Or that we are going to see Pedri again at the dinner this Saturday, but not as the Barca Player but as your boyfriend."

You stayed quiet. Your silence was all she needed to confirm it. You just blush at how obvious you were.

"I also think it's important for you to know that he didn't know until today that Xavi is my dad."

"Y/n." She says, eyes widening. "How?"

"I asked Martina to omit the fact that my last name is Hernández because I wanted to just not be Xavi's daughter for once. I wanted to be me."

"I get it, believe me." She hugs you. "Oh my God, I'm so happy, you two look amazing together."

"You think dad would flip if I tell him that he is my boyfriend and that the job he got me to keep me occupied worked, but my occupation is not only being an intern but having a boyfriend?" You ramble a little.

"Why don't you tell him now?" She asks. "He's here. He likes him, and to be honest, I don't want to get all dressed up for something we already did but didn't know we were doing."

Nuria and you debate a little about the whole telling your dad thing. She encouraged you to tell him now that he is in a good mood.

"Hey." You say, walking back into the kitchen. "Can I talk to you? Nuria will help them." You guide them to your backyard. Seating on the couch you have there for parties. "I'm sorry I was gone all day, I just had a rough day and wanted to come home."

"Something happened?" He asks, worried. "You don't usually turn your phone off and walk out of the club."

"I don't want to talk about it, don't worry. I'm better now." You smile. "I'm sorry about not being fully honest with you." You say, referring to your family situation. "I honestly thought I was getting out of that job in two weeks, but I grew a like for it."

"And you stayed." He finish your sentence. "You tend to do toxic things. Have you noticed that?"

"Eres un tonto." You say. He opens his arms to you. You fall into them and snuggle your face on his shoulder. "Don't be mad?"

"Am not, I was shocked when your dad opened the door. I thought I was going crazy and that my car gps was failing." He chuckles. "Then I see you walking as he says you are his daughter, and all I'm thinking is now it makes sense why you know so much about football."

You laugh. "And all those things I told yo about him liking you more than the rest because you listen to him? You now can actually believe me."

He hugs you tight. He was so worried all day about you. "Ferran was worried. He didn't even bother me during training."

"You are welcome." You joke. "I was thinking, maybe we can use this opportunity to tell my dad about us."

"Don't you think it's enough off a surprise that I knocked on the door without an invitation?"

You were about to answer when a voice makes you turn. It was your dad on the balcony right above where you are.

"Creo que ya me lo han dicho sin decirme, chavales." (I think you told me without telling me, kids) he shakes his head. "Pedri, not only as your trainer but as the father of the girl you are apparently with. I think it's time to go home and rest for the game."

"Si, Mister." He shyly smiles. "Thank you for the food. See you tomorrow." He separates. "See you tomorrow, Guapa." He whispers as he walks back inside the house.

"Dad, that wasn't nice."

"Bring me a brownie when they are ready, we need to have a chat." He winks at you. Going back inside.

🪷🪷🪷

The game went amazing. They won second place on La Liga. It wasn't the worst, after all. Pedri scored two goals, giving a very nice almost end of the season.

"It was a good game." Carlos says. "I'm going to miss this so much."

"Me too, I like some of the players already, and I'm going to miss seeing you steal Gatorade for the gym."

"Shhh, I can't get caught." He jokes. You walk over to the interns room. "Wait, I'll go to the bathroom. Can you pick my stuff for me?"

You nod, opening your palm so he can give you his locker key. When he does, you walk to the room. You walk inside, grabbing your bag and Carlos things.

You text Pedri congratulations, and you tell him where you are. He asked you to wait for him there. Ferran and him will meet you there.

You heard the door slam closed. You turn and see Marcus. He has this smirk on his lips. "Hey, did you enjoy the game?" You ask, going back to your phone.

"I know what you are doing." He says, sitting at the table. "You can stop pretending."

"Qué?" You ask, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I heard you talking with Carlos, telling him about your date, how his family was going to be there. And then I saw you walking out of that shithole, after being with him."

"Okay?" You smirk. "Why is that your concern?"

You didn't mind if he saw you and Pedri sneaking out here and there. You weren't going to hide it. Season is about to finish, and you won't be back.

"So you admit it?" He asks loudly. "I mean not that you are hiding it. Look at that Miu Miu bag. A girl like would only dream about it."

You look down at your bag. Bag that was a gift from your grandparents. "Why are you so mad if I wear designer or if I date someone from the club?" You were about to walk out, not feeling like listening to his crap.

"Raphinha was right, you act like a fucking prude but in reality you are nothing but a slut."

You turn to him. Was that what Raphinha talked to you about when he attacked you? "What did you just say?"

"And now you are deaf." He laughs.

"Is this about me rejecting your invitation?" You ask mad. Was he doing all that because you told him he wasn't your type? "Marcus, this is fucked up. Did you even know what Raphinha did to me?"

"Whatever it was, he probably paid you enough to get something nice, huh?" He says, getting closer. "Did you enjoy it?"

You back off, trying to get away from you. "Don't don't even know what you are talking about."

"You rejected me but decided to fuck a forthy year old dude?"

You don't understand nothing at this point. What he thinks you are doing. "You are confusing things, I'm not doing any of that."

"You just admitted to do it." He yells. You back a little more. "A married guy with kids, fucking slut." He yells.

You feel like you were about to start crying from the anxiety this is giving you. "I didn't do that." You yell back.

The door opens up. A frowny Ferran and Pedri walk in. Seeing the scene and how you are almost cornered up.

"What is going on?" Ferran asks. "Are you okay, Y/n?"

Pedri doesn't even care about answering questions. He walks over to you and shields you with his body.

"Back off." He warns. "No sé quien carajos te crees pero no tienes ningún derecho a gritarle, imbecil." (I don't know who te fuck you think you are but you have no right to yell at her, asshole) he's the one getting closer now, doing the same he was doing to you.

"Obviously, you two are defending her." He laughs. "Did he sucked your dicks too?"

Pedri doesn't need to hear anything else. His fist impacts Marcus. Making him fall over. "I'm not going to let you talk about her at all. You watch your fucking mouth."

Ferran grabs you by the shoulders, taking you out of the room. You don't want Pedri to get in trouble.

"Can you make sure he doesn't punch him again?" You ask Ferran. "I don't want Pedri having repercussions because of him."

Ferran nods, going back inside. You can hear Pedri yelling at Marcus. He was mad and the adrenaline from the game was giving him the attitude.

He was a calm dude. It's not easy to pass him off, let alone get physical with him. But today was Marcus lucky day because Pedri was not taking any shit.

Ferran drags Pedri out of the room. Mad face softens when his eyes lay on you. "Guapa." He hugs you. "Are you okay?"

"I am. Thank you for saving me." You kiss his collarbone. "I'm so confused about why he was yelling at me."

"He won't even dare to even come back after the break. And if he does, Ferran promised him that he would run him over."

You smile. Extending your hand to where Ferran is. He grabs your hand, and you pull him to the hug between Pedri and you.

Carlos, who is just coming back from the bathroom and sees that scene, joins without saying much.

"Why are we hugging?" He asks after a few. Making Pedri, Ferran and you laugh.

🪷🪷🪷

"Two goals, baby." You say, hugging you very sweaty boyfriend. "You did amazing. I'm so proud."

He smiles like crazy, his first goals with the national team, and you surprised him by coming to see his game.

"I played too." Ferran says, watching you and Pedro hug.

Pedro scuff. "Maybe get a girlfriend, capullo."

"Excuse me? Y/n, let me tell you that without me insisting that he asked you out, you wouldn't even be here right now." He leaves, pretending to be mad.

You laugh when you notice Pedri blushing at Ferrans confession. "Well, let's thank him." You say, kissing his lips.

"We can also thank a very straightforward girl who asked me what was the status of our relationship when we were cuddling in bed and watching a movie."

"A smart mind, in my opinion."

You two walk over to the interview side. Since he scored two goals, some news channels wanted him to give the exclusive after the game.

"I'm very proud, I can't wait for Germany." He says to the camera.

"How is your support circle? Will you have your family and friends at maybe one of the games?"

"I have amazing support, my parents, my brother, my girlfriend, my friends, and the fans who always motivate me to be better."

"Girlfriend? Wow, lucky girl. Imagine that the start of today is your boyfriend." The interviewer laughed.

Pedri locks his eyes with you. "Actually, I'm the lucky one." He says.

#football #football fanfic #football angst #pedri x ferran #pedri #pedri x reader #pedri x y/n #pedri angst #pedri fics #pedri fanfic #pedri fluff #pedri imagine #barca #football x you #pedri gonzalez #football fiction #football fluff #barca imagine

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wondernus · 2 years ago

Text

˗ˋˏ a winter interlude ˎˊ˗

synopsis: maybe this is meant to be an interlude – an unforeseen passing moment in each other’s timelines. but with the stroke of a conductor’s baton, the symphony lands on the fermata hovering above the note. do we allow this interlude to become something longer than a short period in our lives, or do we end it after all of it is over?

pairing: wonwoo x coworker!reader

genre: romance, drama, light angst

tags: children's book illustrator wonwoo, publisher reader, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, food/drinks, work husband jeonghan cameo, small town dynamics, snowed in, scene where reader almost gets physically injured

wc: 11.3k

message from nu: waaaa first fic of the year. special special special thank you to my beloved madi (@heartkyeom) for being my beta reader well after midnight. I also wanna thank mars (@onlymingyus) for being mars c: I remember a while ago I answered an ask with a possible wonwoo work husband spinoff. this is it. this is wonwoo's work husband spinoff. this can be read as a standalone fic. happy winter and happy new year to all of you. I hope you all enjoy this svthub snowventeen collab fic - nu ♡

wondernus's masterlist / snowventeen collab 18+

one

“Don’t forget to wear you layers because it’s about to be chillier as the week passes by. For those trekking into the mountains, make sure you look out for weather updates from the signal tower and stay indoors because a large snowstorm is about to paint the mountains white. Stay safe, and have a great day. Now, onto Yoon Jeonghan with the traffic.”

“‘Trekking?’ What are you? A protein bar wrapper? Anyway, thank you Joshu-"

Never really understanding why other people say they often find themselves turning down the music while driving to see better, you find yourself doing the same – driving in silence as if the silence could create such a frictionless surface that would shoot and propel your car to your destination. A couple of hours late to your annual winter work retreat, a clear understatement defined by the speed at which you are driving, what was supposed to be a carpool event turned into you sitting in a pool of cars while stuck in traffic.

The Sun shines lightly, a gentle kiss against your skin, but not enough to hug everything it touches in warmth. With the heater on high, you sit in your front seat sweating and dreading the moment when you have to get out of your car, thighs peeling off the leather seats and leaving a pool of sweat where you were sitting. Perhaps it is not the Sun and the heater’s heat that causes you to sweat, but a psychological factor – an amalgamation of stress and anxiety that stemmed from the moment you realized you were late.

No longer can you allow yourself to forgive him that easily, yet you really did not want t blame him for giving you incorrect meeting minutes. But when the retreat itinerary clearly stated to meet in the morning at seven in front of the publishing house, you should have known better than to wholly trust your ditzy new intern to attend your office meeting while you traveled out of town to hunt down your author for her overdue speculative fiction novel draft. Instead of writing the correct time to meet, he incorrectly noted the arrival time.

This unprecedented-precedented blip is the catalyst for a series of chain reactions that would metaphorically send you pummeling down the steep side of a mountain in a snowy avalanche that you could have avoided. But you do not know it, nor do you know how it, whatever “it” is, ends.

Dark circles under your eyes and a forgotten paper-thin pimple patch a jolt over a speedbump away from falling off your oily skin, you keep telling yourself that everything will be okay once you get to the camping grounds. Hopefully, this sort of denial could make up for the fact that you spent all of last night kicking your feet under your covers while binge-watching the reality show that your favorite boy group filmed rather than packing for your trip. But there is only so much your heater turned on high can do for someone wearing an old flimsy university tee with a couple of cat teeth-made holes who forgot to put their contacts in last night. You are better off skipping the winter retreat, but you are already nearing the mountains. There is no turning back – especially on winding roads.

And the embarrassment. This feeling of creeping anxiety seemingly washed away the moment it stepped foot into your head even though you are utterly unprepared and inappropriate for being late to the paid work retreat. Because this sudden realization hits you mid-drive: the only person who you would be embarrassed to meet in your current situation is excused for the retreat. Reasons unknown. And not that you would let any man define you, but at your core, you are simply a person with an embarrassingly big fat crush on your co-worker (and seemingly everybody else you work with). This crush is so bad that if HR made every team create their own set of photocards, you would put his in a protective cover with tiny holographic hearts, and then in a sturdy toploader decorated with overpriced stickers. One glance at him would put you in a trance, daydreaming about what it would be like to wake up in his arms on a sunny day with birds chirping outside your window, and him with a soft smile on his face.

Except for one thing – he hates your guts, so you decided to hate his too.

They always say “try, try again,” but how many tries would it take before the attempts turn Sisyphean? Sure, Hades enchanted Sisyphus’s boulder so that it would roll away before Sisyphus reached the top, but what about you? Car tires struggling against the icy roads, you drive carefully so your car does not turn into a giant hockey puck or a curling stone on (what is essentially) a giant ice rink. But being careful does not help the fact that you are unprepared. And being unprepared means your car has absolutely no way for you to drive over any sized slopes, no matter how many times you try.

You only realize any further attempt of going over the slope or taking any other route is fruitless when your tires spin in place after digging themselves well enough into the road. And you slump against your steering wheel like an exasperated character in a movie – pounding your head against 12 o’clock a few times for good measure. So much for a fifteen-minute-saving de-tour through a small town you have never seen before. And so much for you trying to drive over a slope you could easily walk over. Trying sucks.

Still, the only thing that keeps you from abandoning your hand-me-down car to trek forty-five minutes to the campsite is the fact that it is freezing outside, and your cellphone Wi-Fi gets especially spotty when you are in areas of high altitudes. With one final sigh, you push yourself away from your steering wheel to sit upright, leaning the back of your head against your headrest. There is not much to do except to put your car in neutral and try to push your car out of the little hole it dug itself in.

The thing is, the texture of real snow is a lot different from the snow that giant portable snow machines shoot out of their gigantic cylindrical nozzles to cover the courtyard in front of the city hall whenever the local city has its annual winter festival. Real snow is also incomparable to the “snow” a child creates along the perimeter of an ice skating rink, hands holding onto the rails for support while they repeatedly scrape the inside of one of their blades towards the inside of their other shoe, creating soft ribbons of shaved ice before the navy blue Zamboni can create a clean slate before private lessons start.

Real snow is relentless toward anybody who does not come prepared to interact with it. So, no matter how much you try to dig and twist your sneaker sole into the snow, that tactile grip that you wish to create that supports your feet while you are pushing against the back of your car can seldom be created. You slump against your car’s bumper in defeat. The Sun still shining on your skin, a little bit stronger now, leaves you with the same warmth you felt against your skin, a bit tingly and upsetting, when you knew your skin would still burn no matter how nice the cordiality of the Sun felt on that one Spring day in the past.

Plus, there is a little more time to observe your surroundings when you have given up completely.

In the grassy median strip that denotes the entrance into the small town is a wooden welcome sign with the name in loopy golden lettering against a beautiful pine green: “Welcome to Interlude.” A few feet ahead of you, the mountainous road marries smooth concrete, and the sidewalks pave in a festival town-esque brick lining. And you conclude you must be on the outskirts of the town. Leftover snow fills the grooves between each brick and covers the dark-colored awnings in front of each shop along the town strip. Where flashy LED shop signs and brightly colored bulbs decorate sidewalk trees drawing visitors in from around the world, is surprisingly a lack of people. And you frown while thinking about how you would be able to push your car to the side of the road if another vehicle wants to enter the town.

Not a few moments later, a navy blue truck slowly climbs up the road, and you feel the littlest bit of hope surge into your body. Forcing yourself to stand up, you move out of the way and wave at the incoming car. But as your day could not have gotten any more unfortunate, your car starts rolling backwards towards the pickup truck. And you cannot help but see your entire life flash in front of you – a person dressed too lightly for the snow and the used car passing by like a celebrity on a parade float, all in a moment.

What is scarier than the fact that your car is now bumper-less and the pickup truck remains unscathed is the man who hops out of his truck. Looking like a snow-stage boss from a video game, the man who is large and menacingly looking enough to make his shiny dark green car look like a minivan next to him stalks over to you with his finger pointed directly at your face. The only thing missing from the scene is the army of ice ogres that are supposed to follow closely behind him.

However, the only thing you can register is the fact that he is yelling at you – face glowing bright red and spit flying out of his mouth. Your body is frozen in fear. There is a lack of capacity for you to be able to stand up for yourself while you are shocked and unable to recognize your surroundings while terrible words spill out of the man's mouth. And you cannot do anything except take in his expletives while teardrops well up, ready to spill out of your tear ducts.

But they do not. A figure puts himself between the man and you, and your view is too obstructed to see the other side.

“I called the insurance company. Give me your information and I’ll handle it,” the mysterious person says.

“And who are you?” You hear from the other side.

“I’m their husband.” He fishes for his wallet in his back pocket and takes out a business card, handing it to the man between two fingers. “Call me. Email me. Your choice. I’ll get it sorted. Sorry about the whole thing, I didn’t have time to drive my partner. Bad husband right?... So, I heard you’re the new fishing shop owner? I’ll drop by sometime.” He tries to switch subjects to lessen the tension while slipping his wallet back into his pocket.

The thing is, it works. The presence of the man who uses his body to shield you calms the angry pickup truck driver almost exponentially. And the man who yelled at you seemed to forget he was yelling at you just because he realized your marital status. The man calms down, and even falters in his speech.

“Ahh…I’m not a fishing shop owner. I guess it’s fine now that you’re here, but you know men. There aren’t bad husbands, only ba-”

“I’ll be at Town Hall if you need more information from me.” The man who calls himself your husband purposely and curtly cuts the other man off, knowing very well that he would be even more upset if he heard the man finish his sentence.

The man does not turn back to address you until he is done taking photos of both cars and waving the other man goodbye. And your piece of junk car stays in the same spot, bumper-less and bruised, while the pickup truck, clearly without any injury, smoothly makes its way into Interlude, disappearing from your sight.

“You’re just going to dumbly let that man say those things to you? About you? Do you have no respect for yourself?” He lectures you, his deep voice muffled by the black wool scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth.

You see him clearly this time, how his black locks fall in front of his face in neat curtain bangs, set in a defined “C” shape. The oversized fleece-lined collar jacket falls to the middle of his thighs, leaving little room for his cream-colored sweater to peep into view. And his stance, focusing his weight on his right heel while his left foot slightly protrudes forward, allows him to tap his foot against the snow while he waits for you to answer him.

But what is shocking to you is not the code-switching he uses when speaking to the driver versus when speaking to you. What is shocking, you realize, are the thin silver-framed glasses that sit on the bridge of the man’s nose and the familiar deep woody scent that clings onto him, touched with a hint of peach.

It couldn’t be.

A cold chill leaves your tongue dry and squeezes your stomach.

“Are you dumb? Did you not hear about the snowstorm coming?” He asks you, a voice without concern, all while pulling out his phone from one of his pockets.

He tugs his manicured thumbs out of his gloves to wake his phone and proceeds to reveal his face from under his scarf to unlock his phone. After a few loud keyboard taps, you hear your phone’s notification sound from your car. But all you can do is stare back at the man, stomach gurgling and queasy.

“Yn,” your co-worker sighs, clearly annoyed by your lack of response. “Why are you here?”

two

A backpack-wearing piglet who happily crosses the street. A fashionably dressed lumpy toad who rows across the pond in a wooden paddle boat. A shrew who picnics with a chipmunk in a grassy city park. Tiny children who sit between each of a stegosaurus’s scutes. An angry and scruffy-looking Siamese cat who wears a cone too big for it to see. The backside of each illustration states:

Jeon Wonwoo ILLUSTRATOR Same Dream Publishing House Work Email | Work Number | Personal Website

Nicely squared recycled textured card stock printed with soy ink, Jeon Wonwoo’s business cards can very well double as collector cards. And the owner of these cards himself, in your eyes, is the most beautiful man you have ever laid your eyes on. No fantasy writer, no Renaissance artist could ever truly depict how you see this man. Yet it makes you feel terrible, so entirely rotten on the inside, knowing that he would rather crawl up several flights of stairs made of tiny plastic building blocks than take a fifteen-second elevator ride with you.

If you could pinpoint the exact day Jeon Wonwoo started hating you, it would be the Monday after coming back from a previous work trip to the vacation home of a poet the two of you were assigned. The two of you were amicable with each other, even more so – close friends. A power couple in the children’s books and short stories field – a force to be reckoned with. And the hotel rooms adjacent to each other where the two of you decided to sit on opposite sides of your shared door and talk to each other with both your backs against the door. You remember the sound of his hair brushing against the wood and his soft chuckle when you accidentally bump your head against the door. The goodbye after the trip lingered for a little too long while the first hello back never came. And you can only watch from the back of the crowd during meet and greets and panels, sometimes only catching the tip of his tiny flyaway from far away.

It would hurt your feelings a lot less if he turned away whenever you walked near him, but he chooses to frown instead. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make you like him any less. But you do not know what you are holding onto (or if there is anything to hold onto at this point).

Even now, there is a blatant emotional and physical distance between the two of you. He briskly walks at least a meter in front of you, never turning his head back to see if he left you behind or if you were following closely behind.

The thick uncomfortable shoulder strap keeps slipping from your shoulder, unable to find any traction against the smooth nylon of the puffer you put on earlier. And it is just a walk, a measly ten-minute walk to the police station where you can report the accident, but it is hard to walk while looking ahead when you are so close to crying. No matter how much you try to adjust your shoulder strap so it doesn’t stop falling, it finds a way to slip from your sore shoulder or frozen grip. Overwhelming emotions usurp any will to continue onwards and leave you feeling so annoyed, so dejected, and so frustrated with everything that happened today. And when your bag’s strap slips again, you let it slip from your shoulder, sending your entire duffle bag crumpling against the wet and icy brick pavement.

And so you crumple with it, sinking to your knees and wallowing in your unhappiness.

The winter boots that clop in front of you never stop. Jeon Wonwoo would never stop for you, never walk backwards to pick up your heavy duffle and offer you a hand. So it wracks your head trying to understand why he would help you out in the first place, leaving you in the snow once everything was settled, and threatening an IOU coupon for the future. Why he would be in this town in the first place.

The shop window lights of the tiny electronics store to the side of you flicker on. On display and pressed flat against the glass are a bunch of old television sets stacked on top of each other, creating a large screen if not separated by the thick plastic television frames. Golden tempera paint in a modern Serif font exhibits the store’s logo across the glass: “Stay For A While,” in a wide downward pointing arc.

Every single television screen livestreams the local news. According to the subtitles, a giant snowstorm is about to hit the local area. Residents are advised to seek shelter and stay home. The sunny weather is only a farce.

But you don’t notice the news. To you, the only thing in front of you is a lachrymose shadow of a blob trapped in a foreign town with nowhere to go. And your heart follows closely behind the man as if dragged by him on a leash – blindly bouncing, cobbling, and getting scratched by the various pebbles and dirt on the pavement.

The man never looks behind to check on the organ. He doesn’t even know it’s there.

“What do you mean you’re cat sitting? Jeonghan, you never volunteer to do things willingly…Oh, for the friends who are high school teachers? Then road trip with their cat and save your cousin who is stranded in the mountains.” You adjust your grip on your phone while mindlessly browsing through the several knickknacks for sale in the souvenir shop in the town’s only lodge.

Passing the wall of graphic tees and sweaters and passing through a shelf of souvenir mugs, you stop at a shelf of tiny woodcarvings. Your eye lands on a figurine of a whittled cat, hand-painted orange with a white belly. On the other end of your phone call, your cousin complains about the weather, but you don’t listen – clearly too entranced by the tiny cat.

“Of course I listened to the radio this morning,” you mutter while running the tip of your pointer finger against the cat’s ear, feeling the smooth sanded wood under your touch. “Okay, you got me. It was for background noise. Look, I’m not asking you to pick me up today. I somehow ended up booking a room after finding out cab services are down today. But if you’re not going to pick me up then I’m going to hang up and solve this myself. But if you don’t hear from me in three days, then call a search party. Okay?”

Except he hangs up before you can say goodbye, grumbling about how you never listen to him. Still, you’re unbothered by his action. The tiny cat, now in the palm of your hand, looks so content with life, unbothered by what goes on around it. Your mind wonders about its artist, how long they must have spent carving the cat from a single block of wood, the hours it must have taken to create something so tiny yet so fulfilling to own. And you wonder about the artist’s emotions, if they ever felt sadness after parting with their cat. If the cat was the artist’s friend, even for the brief moment, that juncture, in their individual timelines.

It would be best if you left the cat on the shelf, you think. Just in case the artist ever changes their mind about selling the cat. And the cat looks happier sitting on the shelf with its other animal friends, happier than what its painted lazy smile suggests.

And for the first time today, you feel a tiny bit of happiness – a halcyon moment surrounded by forest-themed trinkets and flashing keychains with generic names and soft 2010s pop music playing from the store speakers. That is until you see a familiar figure being escorted to the lobby of the lodge. Curiosity causes you to leave your spot in the souvenir store, edging closer to the creation of a new scene.

“I have a room.” You hear him try to reason with the security guard. “It’s not called loitering if I am a guest.”

You can’t hear the security guard, but it seems like Wonwoo’s bluntness is not a strong enough source of logos for the guard. And the guard stands in front of the illustrator, fully unconvinced that the man wearing a suit and holding his work briefcase would be any other out-of-town guest. And one look of pure panic on Jeon Wonwoo’s stupidly handsome-looking face sends you on autopilot, making your way to his side for no good reason.

“Babe.” You lie through your forced smile while looping your arm around his right arm. “Where were you?”

His arm jerks in the tiniest bit before it relaxes as if he hesitated for a moment before making his decision. Of course, another explanation could simply be because he experienced a negative bodily reaction to your mere presence. Flabbergasted, he would mutter. The nadir of today’s excitement. And you would hate him even more for using vocabulary without incorporating any malapropisms. He is as pretentious as the outfit he wears.

“Baby,” he grits through his teeth. “This gentleman seems to think I’m stalking the halls like some animal out to hunt its prey.”

“Sorry, Sir.” You pout at the security guard, hoping your natural pathos could appeal to the man. “My husband has a tendency to walk around whenever he’s bored. It’s been a while since we went on vacation, and he clearly has too many thoughts in his head. You see his outfit? It’s a bad habit.”

The security guard strokes his chin and nods, eying Wonwoo’s ineffable outfit. He wonders why the man in front of him would pack a business suit for a vacation in the mountains, but he doesn’t want to be the one too quick to judge. Rather, he agrees with the fact that the suit actually fits the man very well. If the man wasn’t stalking the hallways just a few moments ago, he would’ve asked him about which tailor he sees. “If he’s so bored, why don’t the two of you join couples night tonight? Winners get a free bedroom upgrade. And between you and me, I heard there’s a famous author who’s staying with us,” he whispers the last portion, a quick cheeky wink.

You don’t realize that you are still grabbing onto his arm until you dragged him into your room. And he shrugs you off, taking the extra step to smooth out his suit fabric while looking through your vanity mirror before turning to you.

“You have the grip of a snapping turtle,” he scoffs while looking around your room.

It is a standard room with a single queen-sized bed at the center of the room. If it were not for the carpeted floors, the entire room would look like a wooden box from its Western Red Cedar planks that make up the four walls to the wooden paneling that covers the ceiling, giant circular wooden beams that keep the ceiling steady by design. The rooms in this lodge are a termite’s dream feast and an art deco enthusiast’s nightmare. Even the bedframe is made of logs, cylindrical in every piece, and the bedsheets are of deep burgundy red bordered with silhouettes of black bears as if it came straight from the video game your cousin was so obsessed with a few Summers ago.

What catches his eye is not the fact that your duffle bag is thrown across your bed, nor the fact that the lamps in your rooms may as well be oil lamps. Rather, he stares at the door to the right of your mounted television, the divider between your room and your neighbor’s. And you can’t help but wonder what is going on in that head of his.

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

“How long did it take for you to think of that comeback?” His attention is drawn away from the door and aimed toward you. “Just because I compared you to a turtle didn’t mean you had to act like one.”

Your jaw drops and becomes your turn to scoff at him, loudly. You cannot believe what you are hearing, and your breathing becomes shallower as you glare at him. “Are you kidding me? Me helping you literally saved you from being pathetically kicked out by the security guard. You should be happy I didn’t record it and post it online.”

“Like you would have enough followers for it to go viral,” he sneers while taking a step toward you. “And I never asked you for help.”

“Loitering in the hallways? Wearing a business suit when you’re supposed to be at the retreat?” Now there is almost no space between the two of you. And you reach over to his chest, grabbing the plastic nametag that dangles from his neck, and holding it up to his face. The item feels as cold as the person who wears it. “Wearing your work badge? Fine, I’ll admit I have no idea why you’re here. But if you thought that walking around and waiting for some author to come out of their room and have some preplanned accidental meet cute could work, then you’re so wrong. And I’m not going to let you defame our company just because you have no social skills whatsoever.” You let go of the item you’re holding, letting it drop against his chest.

“Okay, I’ll be the bigger man and admit that I was waiting for the author my team wants to work with to show up. But talking about defaming the company? You want me to care about what you say when all of that was coming from someone who would rather let some random man verbally degrade their worth than to stand up for themselves? You’re all bite and no tongue. Just like a snapping turtle,” he says, his face entirely without emotion.

“SNAPPING TURTLES HAVE TONGUES. DUMBASS,” you snap at him.

“That’s exactly what a snapping turtle would say,” he challenges you.

The thing is, Jeon Wonwoo likes to keep things short even though he is not as quick-tempered as you are. He prefers to relay everything he wants to say at once, saving anybody from asking for clarification. Yet, you can feel that Wonwoo only seeks to maim you with his words. Even at your most imperturbable composure with your intern, you cannot stand being alone in a room with Wonwoo once he starts opening his mouth to speak. And stupidly and repeatedly you let his elementary quips affect you like rubbing salt on an open wound. The laceration in your heart.

“You’re so rude Jeon Wonwoo. No wonder I hate you more and more every single day. You’re the single-most worst person in the entire world, and I hate how I once considered us friends.”

He looks like he has something to say to you but mentally drops the notion. Instead, he sighs and makes his way to the door beside your television, unlocking the knob and opening the door. He doesn’t make some offhanded comment about being your neighbor and only quietly closes the door behind him, making sure it’s locked with a tiny click.

three

It is a tiny office breakroom, the kind with a beige refrigerator whose motor is a little too loud, a low-watt microwave, and light green walls decorated with random pen marks from the lodge workers signing up for holiday potlucks. The late afternoon sunlight shines in an ethereal orange glow through the window, casting what could be the day’s last warm ray across the round wooden table in the middle of the room. Central heating runs throughout the building, and the lodge manager sits in the hot seat, his hands folded in front of him while he stares at you and your “husband.”

“Darling?” A nice elderly receptionist on break holds up a bag of mini marshmallows, the tri-colored kinds you can only find in baking stores, and points to it with her manicured finger. “Marshmallow?” she asks you from her place near the kitchen cabinets.

“No thank you,” you reply, your hands wrapped around a warm disposable cup filled with generic brand instant hot chocolate. Gratis, courtesy of the elderly receptionist before the manager arrived to talk to the two of you.

You bring the sugary drink to your lips, blowing softly and watching the steam disappear into the air. The drink itself, velvet chocolate that coats your tongue, is a warm invitation to this little town in the middle of nowhere. However, you cannot help but feel the only thing – or person – that unwelcomes you is the man who tries to angle his body away from you and the manager if the two of you ever cause trouble for your neighbors. Again.

“Look, we’re not going to kick you out. It would be inhumane to kick someone out during a snowstorm. And also we’re all kinda snowed in…actually, we’re super snowed in so nobody is coming in or out at this point. Funny how it was sunny earlier, right? Anyway, word has it that the two of you are married. So why don’t you two take some time to work things out, yeah? I’m no relationship counselor, but this is a small lodge in a small town so word gets out fast. So, seeing how far the two of you are sitting apart from each other, maybe channel that pent up anger into some competitive spirit during couple’s night because we can’t have you two being loud and arguing elsewhere. And I hate to be the bad guy here, but no more calls from your neighbors complaining about the two of you arguing or else we will contact authorities. Alright? Just keep it down and work it out, would ya?”

The manager’s lengthy spiel is immediately followed by silence, although not awkward, but one that provokes thought. And when you sense Wonwoo, being the smartass he is, open his mouth to counter his marriage status, and you immediately kick him in the shin with the heel of your tennis shoe. And he folds like his latest pop-up book, glaring at you while trying not to wheeze in pain. A fake smile and a solemn pledge to not bother the other patrons for the rest of the night are enough for the two of you to be excused from the conversation with the manager.

But not from each other.

How you ended up blindfolded and dizzy with a bat in your hands while Wonwoo angrily yells at you from the sidelines is beyond you. For the time being is what the two of you agreed with, albeit this one is far from Ruth Ozeki’s version. It’s a small promise to try to prove the two of you are more than amicable: attend a few games and activities together with the other couples, attempt to act like a married couple, and dip after an hour.

After twelve elephant spins with your forehead against the baseball bat, you and the other blindfolded contestants try to cross to the other side of the banquet hall in order to smash one of the many squashes on the large blue-colored plastic tarp laid across the floor. And Wonwoo, along with the other separated pairs, barks into the open air in the direction he wants you to move.

The funny thing is, you would expect to hear him call your actual name out of all of the pet names being thrown around, but Wonwoo cannot yell for the life of him, so much to shout your name in public. So even though you hear a bunch of people getting confused with the various forms of “honey” and “baby” being called out, you struggle to find his voice amidst the cacophony of shouts. Once the physical dizziness from spinning around evaporated, you feel a new kind of dizziness from being agitated as an aftereffect of trying to find Wonwoo’s voice in the middle of the crowd. By the time you decide on giving up, the shrill sound of a whistle signaling the end of the game fills the air. Shrugging the blindfold off your face, you look around to see the aftermath. While the other pairs are on the other side of the room surrounded by broken pieces of squash, there is only one man standing in front of you alone and separated from the others.

Your breathing hitches when you realize he’s walking towards you – long, even strides like the romantic lead in a movie. By the time he places himself in front of you, your baseball bat is in his hand while your cheek is in his other.

“It was hard, wasn’t it?” he whispers while looking into your eye.

Except you can’t help but train your eyes elsewhere, unable to look him in his eyes while it feels like your heart is beating erratically. And even though you know very well how he is faking everything, you can’t help but regress to the same you, the same you who is so helplessly in love with the man you hate. The same you who spends every day wondering how did the two of you end up that way.

“You only took the bat from me because you’re scared I might whack you with it. And not going to lie, I was contemplating it,” you mumble.

“It’s okay babe.” He tries to cheer you up, a slight undertone of insincerity in his voice. He continues to ignore your statement. “You did your best. Snapping turtles are slow, but they still manage to survive.”

Ignoring the fact that Wonwoo’s hand is warm because he has warm packs in each of his loungewear jacket pockets (and the fact that he refused to share one with you), someone catches your eye in the distance. Where workers are cleaning up the aftermath of the squash game, a familiar-looking man stands to the side where some lodge patrons flock around him with rectangular objects in their hands. Once you see him turn his head your way, your entire body freezes – Wonwoo’s touch suddenly begins to feel cold against your skin. And Wonwoo, who was expecting you to get mad at him for calling you a turtle, can’t help but notice your state of panic. And he not so subtly turns around to see who could be causing you so much fear.

“Oh my,” he mutters, coming to his realization.

“I can’t believe –” you begin before Wonwoo interrupts your train of thought.

“I hope he rots in hell before he can get his next book deal,” he almost spits at the man from several feet away. He drops his hand from your cheek and takes a tiny step back before taking a deep breath as if he is about to ask you something that he would regret, “Do you mind staying a little longer? I want to make sure chauvinists never win book upgrades.”

“Room upgrade,” you correct him while glaring at the other man from afar.

“What?”

“You misspoke.” You guide your attention back to the man who is, for what you think is the first time, looking at you attentively and without malice. And the fact that he is looking at you amicably makes your brain go haywire, but you subdue your thoughts and continue the conversation. “It’s the ‘room’ upgrade that we’re trying to stop him from winning.”

“Book upgrade or room upgrade, it’s the same thing.” He frowns while tapping the end of the bat against the ground. “It turns out your pickup truck man is the author my team is after. But I’d rather be jobless than to work with someone like him.”

So he works with you, absolutely demolishing the competition during the Dinner and Paint section and loudly cheering for you while you stacked plastic cups. And the way he smiles at you, lovingly and with the glimmer reflected from the ceiling lights contrasted against the cocky attitude he surrounds himself with when one of you wins a game – it almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to hate him. How easily he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly against his embrace so much that his cologne lingers on your clothes, leaves you feeling hopeless. Because the only time Jeon Wonwoo could ever approach you without visibly withering in repulsion is when he acts like he is in love with you.

Outside the cozy lodge, the Sun sets its rays on the heavy layers of snow. While the Earth turns to face the other way, the rays wash the pillowy white crystals in a warm and deep burgundy orange – a warm embrace, a promise to return, before parting for the night. As you clean Wonwoo’s smudged glasses with the hem of your shirt, he sneaks his right arm around your waist while he leans further into his seat as the Couple’s Night host announces the next game. You feel something warm enter the pocket of your jacket and look down to see Wonwoo’s hand back on your waist. The untouched hand warmer gradually feels hotter in your pocket when you gently place your fake husband’s glasses back on the bridge of his nose. He whispers a small “thank you,” and you can only smile back at him with a heaviness in your heart that only you can carry.

The hand warmer feels like it would burn through your clothes at any second.

four

“Team Snowball, what did your partner answer for the question: ‘What is your partner picky about eating?’” The emcee points at the woman sitting next to you who gladly flips her sketchbook around for the other half of the room to see. She squints her eyes, trying to read the woman’s squiggly writing, and smiles when she realizes it’s a match. “Soft grapes? It’s a match. Point to Team Snowball.”

Despite everything going around you, you can’t help but fidget in your seat, the sketchbook’s pages starting to feel damp in your sweaty palms. Wonwoo sits with the separated pairs across from you. He crosses his legs, and his sketchbook lays comfortably across his lap so he can twirl his black marker in his hand. Even when you know you wrote the correct answer to Wonwoo’s food preferences, the two of you are still several points behind the other teams. Your stomach cannot help but feel queasy every time you embarrassingly flip your sketchbook for others to see. Because every single wrong answer about your “husband” whom you love very much feels like a punch in your gut every time you hear snickers from the others around you.

Seafood is your answer; you’re the last to answer this round’s question. You earn a small cheer from the woman reading your answer and a small smile from Wonwoo. He sneaks you a tiny thumbs up, the tip of his thumb poking out of his sweater.

“Next question,” dictates the emcee. “When did you know they were the one?”

It’s an abstract question – one that doesn’t necessarily need matching answers from both sides. Still, you look across to look at Wonwoo, uncertain whether or not he would put much thought into an answer he would have to pull out of thin air. Uncapping his marker with his mouth, he pulls the sketchbook closer to him to scribble down whatever comes to his mind. The action leaves your mouth feeling dry: one, obviously, because he uncapped the marker with his mouth; and two, he was the first to start writing.

Some answers are simple. Some answers are meaningful. Some answers are like yours – “love at first sight.”

Corny, overused, and unusual, your answer is the safest route you knew you could take. And despite how clichéd your answer is – its timelessness, its Hallmark-ability – still garners a series of awws from everybody around you. Technically, there is some truth to your answer. You developed a tiny crush the first time you saw him at the office. Who wouldn’t? He surrounds himself with illustrations of anthropomorphic animals and has a laugh that bellows and fills any room with joy. He made your days brighter by simply existing.

Now, the brightness struggles to navigate its way through the thick fog. And you’re left alone in the cold, the fog’s misty droplets clinging onto your skin.

It’s weird how in this life, time moves linearly, but moments and experiences with others exist in intervals – interludes that we can relive over and over again through memories. Sometimes we experience interludes of happiness, interludes of pain, and interludes where it only seems like there are only two people in this world. But nobody can determine how long these interludes can last and for how long you can try to hold on to these moments before letting go.

“Let’s see if Team Turtle can earn a point. Please show us your answer.”

“I’m kind of embarrassed,” he softly chuckles, voice more sonorous than ever, while standing his sketchbook on his knee.

9 pm is his answer. You, and the rest of the people sitting beside you, cannot help but gaze at his answer in confusion.

It is only when he sees you staring at him he finally clarifies, “When we were sitting in my car eating donuts while the waves crash on the shores in front of us. You smiled at me with pieces of maple donut glaze stuck to your upper lip.”

You. He speaks in the second person and looks directly at you with a soft gaze. It couldn’t be, you think. But it is true, you recognize his diction as true. He’s speaking to you.

And you remember that shared moment in the front seats of his car, the night of the work trip. The donuts were for the poet, but the two of you had the door slammed in your faces before being able to hold a full conversation with the poet. And after an entire day of confusion and apologies, the two of you were finally able to fulfill your portions for the work trip. Who knew that the tiny suggestion of walking along the pier after dinner would turn out disastrous – frigid ocean winds strong enough to blow people away? The clothes the two of you packed were not meant to sustain harsh winds but harsh sunlight – after all, the work trip’s destination is a beach town. So the two of you sat in his car, eating donuts, people-watching, and sharing anecdotes to get to know each other better. It was the type of conversation that you would do anything to prolong its duration, the type of conversation with the right type of person.

“You were so happy,” he finishes.

You were so happy, it echoes in your head.

Are you happy now?

“How about you?” The emcee turns to you for clarification. “Your partner gave us such a beautiful explanation. So, you have to explain your ‘love at first sight.’ Tell us about it.”

“Ohh,” Wonwoo begins awkwardly while giving an equally awkward chuckle. “You don’t have to if you do-”

“I was having a really bad morning.” You smile into your lap and look up at your supposed husband. You don’t know why or how the full day with unease bubbling inside of you dispersed so quickly after Wonwoo’s particular answer. But you launch into your story, letting the words flow out of your mouth like melted snow on a grassy hill under the bright Sun. “A really bad morning. I ended up working overtime and accidentally missed my morning alarm. I had to chase the bus while my hot coffee poured out of its opening and onto my skin. My entire day at the office was a mess because I kept messing up. I felt awful and exhausted. So I worked overtime for the second day in a row to clean up my errors. Someone places hot green tea in front of me, the free ones at the office. There is a doodle of a stingray with the dumbest-looking smile on its face. It looked so pathetic that it made me feel a little better about myself. He says that he accidentally boiled too much hot water and thought to make a cup for me. And then he holds his own up in front of his face. There’s a picture of a cat wearing glasses. ‘You can do it,’ he tells me in a squeaky voice. And he leaves. We don’t meet again for about a month, but his kind gesture pieced me back together. And I held onto his kindness for days.”

He stares at you, a few strands of his hair out of place and in front of his eyes. He doesn’t care to move them back in place. There’s that smile on his face, the exact one you imagined to be on his face that time he sat on the other side of your shared door. Soft coral lips relaxed, but the cupid’s bow is slightly perked as the corners of the lips turn upward. He tries to hide the fact that he is smiling, keeping his happiness hidden and only to himself.

So you smile at him. An honest, genuine smile where the cheeks kiss the lower lashes. And his lips stretch thinly so that his brilliant white teeth shyly make their way into the open. He smiles back at you.

Musicians know that an interlude, in music, is an interrupting or intervening passage that connects different parts of a song. An interlude can also be a song in an album. In other words, there are different ways for musical interludes as well as temporal interludes to exist. Now, there is a new interlude in your timeline, this shared moment where two timelines from two completely different lives collide and converge. Anybody can tell that this shared moment is filled with happiness and understanding…perhaps, even longing.

But what do you call it when these two timelines have converged in the past? If two timelines that once converged reconverge at a further point on the timeline, did that initial interlude ever truly end? Are interludes simply short periods in our lives if these interludes stay in our timelines forever, even when the moments they denote end?

Nevertheless, at this moment, you know you’re happy. And you can only hope the man who sits across from you, the one who looks at you with a reminiscent expression you once experienced so long ago, is feeling the same way.

“Okay. We’re in third place. If we win this one, then we’ll be a point ahead of them.”

“I tied it pretty tightly. Is the tightness okay with you?” Wonwoo frowns from below you, seemingly exploring a different problem at hand. He inspects the rope he tied around your leg, poking and prodding at different sections. “It’s a three-legged race, but I don’t want you getting hurt from an accidental rope burn because I tied it too tightly.”

“Wonwoo, it’s fine.” You pat his left shoulder, letting him know he doesn’t have to worry.

He grabs your stretched hand, and you help hoist him upwards. But there is an apparent frown on his face.

“Why do you still call me Wonwoo,” he mumbles while wrapping your arm around his back and on his waist. There is a tiny pout on his face pointed downwards as he naturally loops his arm around your shoulders like he had done it a thousand times. “Are you not comfortable with calling me ‘babe?’ Any other name also works.”

Deep down, or not even deep down, you know he is right. You are uncomfortable with the idea of casually calling him by these pet names over and over again. Calling him by fake pet names, not counting the many idealistic scenarios that once played in your head, in this case, feels very wrong. His sudden change in attitude towards you as well as his overall demeanor after the last game left you in shock. A plot twist in a season finale would be less shocking than what you feel at this very moment. Like every other hypothetical person in your situation, you choose to ignore your problems by focusing on your other problems at hand. Because you know very well, allowing yourself to fully play into this fake husband rouse, even in times when you’re truly happy, would only hurt you in the end. And you’ve been hurt by him before, not really sure if you ever fully healed.

But you can’t deny he looks and seems nothing like the literal he-devil he was this morning. In fact, he seems to be the opposite. Even without being physically tied to you, he trails behind you like a lost puppy and clings onto your sleeve like a cat who kneads dough on your arm, nails hooked onto the fabric of your clothing. And you let him hold you close to him so much that he leans his chin on your shoulder while listening to others talk. And you let his hair tickle your scalp and would let him melt into you if he asked.

Getting hurt by the same man twice does not make a right. Succinctly, it only makes you dumb. So, to protect yourself, you use the image of the screaming man from the morning to remind yourself that everything is a rouse no matter how much you enjoy each moment with the illustrator.

The three-legged race’s course starts in the banquet hall, passes through the hallway and into the lobby, takes several twists and turns throughout the sitting area, and finishes in the banquet hall. Wonwoo takes the lead, firmly holding you against him while he chants “in, out, in, out” to direct how the two of you should speed-walk. But the excitement of the games and the promise of the upgraded room must have gone over the heads of several of the teams, causing each team to speed walk into a sprint once they left the banquet hall.

Wonwoo and you are also victims of wanting to win, or at least of wanting to beat the author. But in this incredibly small lodge, there are only so many paces you can take before having to try to squeeze past another team. And Wonwoo practically hoists you onto his foot without notice, penguin-walking you to make it past another team to navigate through the sectioned seating area.

Startled by his sudden lack of communication, you demand he set you down. “Let me go,” you grunt after being jostled against one of the round wooden tables. You are absolutely sure your hip would bruise in the morning if he bumped you into one more object. “It’d be easier if one of us walks ahead of the other.”

Does it look like I care?” His ego slips from his tongue, completely coating the sweet words that came out of his mouth before the game started. His sudden change in tone catches you by surprise. “I’ll buy a sled from the gift shop if it means I get to drag you instead of hauling you around.”

“It’s just a game.” You try to push yourself off of him, annoyed that he’s suddenly being uncooperative with you. In the meantime, the team behind the two of you catches up and pulls ahead. “Let me go before one of us gets hurt.”

Wonwoo’s eyes aren’t trained on you. Instead, he stretches his head to look at the few teams in front of the two of you. Surprisingly, the two of you make it out of the seating area without any trouble. Before the two of you can make a sprint back toward the banquet hall, you pull yourself away from Wonwoo, yanking his arm off of your shoulder.

“Babe, come on.” He holds out his hand for you to grab onto. “We’re going to end up being last.”

But your hand never reaches out to meet his.

“Babe? Are you serious? Are you kidding me? Are you really calling me ‘babe’ right now?” You almost shriek at him if it weren’t for the fact that the two of you are standing in proximity to the reception desk. But you are exasperated, your voice wobbles as you voice what is bothering you. “I’ve had it with you, Wonwoo. I tried communicating with you. I tried voicing my fears. But your head is so far up your ass that you couldn’t even think about the safety of the person right beside you. Am I sad and mad about what happened this morning? Yeah, I still am. Nobody deserves to be treated that way, but nobody deserves to be ignored. I don’t care about winning anymore. I feel humiliated, utterly and devastatingly humiliated by you and by myself. To think I let myself have fun around you. To think I believed for a second that you truly did care about me. At one point, I thought we were friends. At one point, I really did like you for who you were. But I guess I can’t expect people to stay the same, can I?” More words and sentences pour out of your mouth – like a small tornado that grows larger in size after picking up all of the things you left unsaid, the words that threatened to slip from your tongue all picked up and twirled into the tornado, you ended up saying more than what you meant to say.

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” he begins, but he can only hopelessly stare at you squatting in place to untie the rope that binds the two of you.

“There.” You bitterly drop the rope in his free hand. “You’re free from me now. You can go back to hating me all you want.”

“But I don’t hate you.”

“I’m done, Wonwoo. I’m done with being confused so I’m just going to give up and wallow in my room until Jeonghan picks me up once the snow clears.”

five

“No offense, but I would never spend that much time or energy on a guy…especially a guy who treats you like that. He even stopped pounding on your front door so that obviously means that he’s the type to stop trying after a while,” your cousin rants from the other side of your phone screen. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose while the cat he is looking after purrs contently on his lap. “So what are you? A masochist? You like men who treat you poorly and then reward you with like an hour of happiness? That’s literally like if professors gave you the hardest final you’ve ever taken in your life and told you to grab a free cookie after you turned in the final. What are you even holding onto at this point?”

“I don’t know,” you wail at the older man, crumpling your used tissue in the palm of your hand. It quickly joins the growing pile of snot-riddled balls of tissue at the edge of your bed. When you recline into your initial position, the shifted blanket knocks Wonwoo’s hand warmer onto the floor.

“Eww stop holding your phone so close to your face,” Jeonghan complains, “Vernon says I kinda look like you, and I can’t help imagining that’s how I look when I cry.”

“I don’t know why I still like him,” you mumble to your cousin. You honestly still don’t understand why you like him despite every single recent negative encounter with him. To be honest, your heart doesn’t flutter as it does with the characters in the novels you read. Nothing cliched happens when you see him, like how the world stops and he is the only one who walks in slow motion. Quite frankly, your days pass by whether you see him or not, but it doesn’t mean that the thought of him crosses your mind every once in a while.

“Maybe you just like the idea of him,” he offers with a sigh. There isn’t much that he could do for you in the middle of a snowstorm except to be on a video call with you and hope that the can solve whatever you have going on before his bedtime.

“I make up scenarios of him in my mind but I still prefer the real him,” you admit with a twinge of embarrassment. You can only sink deeper under your covers, pulling the cabin-themed sheets closer to your chest. Maybe you’re still holding onto the Wonwoo who existed during the work trip, and maybe, you think, he still exists somewhere.

“Hypothetically, do you maybe think that the reason why he’s so bad at everything is because he spends most of his time with children and draws instead of writing so his communication skill is basically hindered? Like how you’re good with feelings and ideas because that’s the bulk of the media you surround yourself with daily so you have more exposure to that area. So you have man-child versus person with skewed expectations on love and relationships. But then you literally have people like me…perfect in every aspect.”

“Shut up. You talk about traffic every morning but you can’t even name the model of your car. You were also tricked by a catfish.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“I’m sorry,” you beg him. “Please don’t.”

“My point is.” He places his phone down on the sleeping cat to use as a temporary phone stand while he gathers his thoughts. “The two of you seem like total opposites. And the only time the two of you seem to work well together is when you meet in the middle. So, have you ever tried communicating with him? Ever pulled him to the side to ask him why he’s such an ass?”

Yoon Jeonghan’s simple solution to your problem causes your brain to briefly short-circuit. Silence fills your lonely cabin room as your mouth slightly hangs open while your cousin silently judges you from the other end of the phone. It took a simple suggestion to make you realize that you have been hanging onto Wonwoo’s personality change to even think to consider the idea of confronting him about it. And Jeonghan’s hypothesis may not be wrong at all – life isn’t a fictional novel where everything can be magically solved in the incoming chapters.

“No?” Your answer is meek. You don’t know what to feel after this revelation. Anger? Despair? Peacefulness?

“And is he still knocking on your door? Trying to talk to you?” His tone is gentle for once.

“Yeah?” You look to the right side of your room where the door stands between his room and yours. Slips of lodge notebook paper often found in the nightstand drawers slowly shove themselves through the tiny crack under the door. “I think he’s pushing slips of paper under our shared door.”

“Then go talk to him. But throw away your snot pile and fix your appearance before you do. Yeah?”

“What would I do without you?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. Bye.”

Sitting on the floor with your back leaned against the door, you shuffle the sheets of paper in your hands. There are a couple of sorry notes partnered with sad and apologetic-looking animal doodles. There are a few slips where he asks you to forgive him. Then there are these series of slips – a mini cartoon of his morning, this morning – that somehow cause a small upwards curl to form on your lips.

Blue ballpoint pen ink depicts a series of panels starting with a text he received this morning. This comic is void of cute tiny animals and can only be drawn with the sincerity of a children’s book illustrator. He draws himself staring at his phone screen in confusion – you’re missing, and the rest of the work group chat has no idea where you are. And he’s worried. Everybody is worried, but nobody is worried enough to send search parties for you. Blue-figured Wonwoo rushes out of his room, completely abandoning his presentation for the author, to rush to the entrance of Interlude. Because he knows that your team always passes through Interlude, but you’re known to arrive at the campsite while rubbing your eyes, hair frizzing from the static built from your head rubbing against the headrest while you were sleeping on the way there. But the scene he stumbles upon makes him angry despite how relieved he is to know that you are okay.

The few pages that you hold in your hand are smudged with blue ink, and the ending is unfinished. Wonwoo softly rasps his knuckles against the shared door, calling out your name. When you don’t reply, he sighs and sits down with his back against the door. You feel a tiny jolt with his added pressure against the door. Still, you can’t bring yourself to confront him. At least not yet.

“I’m childish and I let myself get caught up in moments. And you were right, if something happened to you, I would never forgive myself for hurting you. At one point, I really did forget that the reason why we agreed to work together was because we didn’t want him to win. I ended up wanting us to win, or at least for you to win so you could have the upgrade. I’m really sorry for not communicating well with you, and for how I acted.”

The sound of his hair leaving the door lets you know that he probably dropped his head toward his lap.

Taking a shallow breath, he mutters into his hands, “And I wasn’t lying when I talked about us at the beach. I really did like you then. I still like you.”

“Then why ignore me? Why act like you hate me? What did I do to deserve how you treated me?” The questions leave your mouth in a flare of anger.

“I started ignoring you because I was hiding from you. I couldn’t confront you because I knew I would make it obvious that I liked you. But I guess I hid from you for too long because you thought I hated you.” His voice muffled from being on the other side of the door.

“So all of this happened because of some big misunderstanding? Just because we couldn’t confront each other?”

So it really was a simple problem with a simple solution. The revelation feels like a sore punch in the gut, one that’s so surprising that all you can do is laugh.

“I’m sorry, Yn. I really am.”

“I’m also sorry.” You feel really guilty now that you know that you were wrong to believe that he hated you. “I should’ve confronted you about this earlier.”

“Does it still hurt?” His voice sounds clearer as if he shifted his body so he sits facing the door.

“Oh, from the race? Actually nothing happened.”

“From when you fell from heaven,” he finishes with his voice trailing in diminuendo, almost as if he is slightly embarrassed from using the overused pick-up line.

“It actually hurt a lot,” you joke. “But I’m glad it was you who found me in the middle of the road.”

“Then can I stay by your side? Not separated by doors, but by your side?”

So you push yourself away from the door, turning around to unlock the brassy knob. The door slowly swings open to Wonwoo, who is still sitting on the floor, now facing you. And you awkwardly sit in front of him, not really able to meet his eyes.

“I think I have a lot to learn.” He fiddles with the hem of his sweater. “I’ll start by being more communicative about my feelings,” he promises with a soft smile. “Because I really do like you.”

“I like you too.”

There is a magnetic pull that slowly draws the two of you closer together, a comforting sort of sensation that offers a moment of solace created from two extremes. The outside world is dark. The snowstorm has long gone. The surfaces where the sunlight once touched are replaced with the soft yellow glow of several lamps around both of your rooms. Kaleidoscopic remnants of shards of light scatter around every surface. But the two of you, seemingly in the very corners of your shared world exert a different type of glow - one that can only be created in a collision like the break of dawn after a devastating snowstorm.

“I really like you too,” you can’t help but reaffirm.

“It’s actually ‘I also like you.’” He can’t help but playfully correct you. “You’re the publisher. You shouldn’t be making these errors.” He teases.

“And you’re the illustrator, so shouldn’t you stay quiet so I can kiss you?”

one month later

At the base of a computer monitor, a tiny wooden whittled cat naps lazily next to its turtle counterpart. Two people sit side-by-side in the breakroom a few rooms away, the metal seats practically stuck to each other. While their lunches heat up in the microwave, the two happily discuss the upcoming young adult novel they are finally working on together. Under the table, their pinkies naturally interlock. The man who scrolls through art ideas on his tablet can’t help but let his eyes linger on his partner for a little too long while they scroll enthusiastically through the several concept art slides he created. When the microwave sounds, he quickly leaves a soft and brief kiss on the side of his partner’s temple before getting up to remove their heated lunches. And the partner smiles while turning back to look at him, a smile brighter than the soft sunlight that wraps the room in a warm afternoon glow.

There’s a new interlude in their timelines. In this interlude, the two opposites are taking it slow, learning to meet in the middle.

dedicated to ellie (@flowershu/@eliphant). just wanted to thank you for supporting wondernus for all these years. happy new year <33

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