#portuguese breakfast

[we-are-locked-up-in-ideas]

Portuguese breakfast 101

[fullcravings]

Malasadas (Portuguese Doughnuts)

[omnivorescookbook]

Portuguese Egg Tart (葡式蛋挞, Pastel de Nata) A Portuguese egg tart recipe that creates a crispy crunchy layered crust with a creamy and well balanced custard filling that is not too sweet.

Recipe: https://omnivorescookbook.com/portuguese-egg-tart/

[thesugarhole]

'whats your coffee order' posts especially the starbucks type answers fascinate me. you guys drinking all that when you have coffee??

coffee here is like. one coffee please. from context clues i believe this to be an 'espresso shot' in english. if you dont specify they sometimes ask 'curto ou cheio' short or long. this is to determine how much coffee in that little cup you get, with long making it more full and slightly more dilluted. and that's that.

of course, we have other drinks that have milk, tea, wheat? (not sure dont feel like looking it up. translate 'cevada') and some of these do have coffee in it. but they're no longer considered coffee.

a little insight into my wonder and sometimes confusion at the usa centered internet corners

[hornyforfood]

honolulu farmers market breakfast

[bearpillowmonster]

Nah, f-that let's add the whole smorgasbord.

[sheikh-n-bake2]

[fritzllang]

what does that even mean. crunchy is not a flavour!! it's a texture!!!!!

[theyluvki]

Kitchen Disasters ep. 2

Da saga prometi a mim mesma que ia cozinhar mais segue-se o episodio 2

Estava quase a dormir quando pensei " O que será que pode ser um bom pequeno almoço?"

E do nada tive uma ideia básica mas nunca antes feita pela minha pessoa.

Bagels com ovo , bacon e oregãos com maça verde aos cubos com cobertura de mel.

Ingredientes:

Bagels

Manteiga

Ovo

Fatias de bacon para fritar

Oregãos

(Complemento)

Maça ao vosso gosto no meu caso a verde

Mel

Modo de preparação:

Sigam o vosso instinto e boa sorte.

[alyslovesflowers]

Hello MD Community and a happy Mother's Day to all the moms in the chat!! I thought about this in the middle of breakfast and had to draw it lol

And here's the portuguese version (UM BEIJO PROS BR🇧🇷❤️) and the lineart!

[imninahchan]

⌜ 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮: strangers to lovers, my poor spanish skills, casual and unprotected sex [you can't do that, c'mon!], readerʼs a brazilian woman, some portuguese words, dirty talk, age difference, finger sucking, male oral, manhandling, light pussy spanking, ʽpapiʼ, dumbification, dacryphilia. ˚ ☽ ˚.⋆ ⌝

꒰ 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑹ʼ𝑺 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬 ꒱ sooo never thought about posting something in eng but @femmechaotic (thx baby) showed me her translation and i gave it a second chance. This was originally written by me in portuguese, thatʼs why the reader is brazilian. Eng is not our first language, sorry for any mistakes, just posting for the fun of it♡

𓍢ִ໋🀦 HE'S THE KIND OF MAN YOU'LL ONLY MEET ONCE IN A LIFETIME ─────

You realized this from the moment you laid eyes on him for the first time. Sitting a couple of tables away from his, on the balcony of the hotel lobby.

You simply couldn't help but notice it: the thick strands of dark hair, how his hands run through it, as the gentle morning wind blowed. The basic white tank top, a coat hanging over the chair next to him at the table. His big and pointed nose, his eyes hidden mysteriously behind the lenses of the fancy sunglasses.

He's definitely not Brazilian. You could tell just by the food he chose from the buffet on his plate. Youʼre just so genuinely intrigued by the whole set of ongoings, obsessed with watching him, that you forgot about your own — boring — breakfast. The buns were cooling next to the black coffee in the porcelain cup.

You wanted to open the messaging app on your phone and send a sassy comment to your best friend, saying something like: “omg u won't believe how cute is the guy i just saw”, but you didn't even have time for that. The man raises his chin, with his attention shifting from the phone device in his hands to noticing your presence ahead.

You look down immediately, feeling as if you had committed a crime and you've just been caught in the act. You bite your lip, trying to hold down a childish smile, like a vicious little girl. Your palms starts sweating; suddenly cold. The intention was to keep yourself busy with the porcelain cup in the short meantime, trying to deal with the awkward sensation of being caught.

Itʼs not working, of course. You didn't know whether to drink or not, sometimes you try to sip the hot liquid, but you give up halfway through, lost like a robot in a breakdown. And when he raises his eyes once more, in the same direction as you looked for so long, the man's gaze meet yours again.

It feels, apparently, like youʼre going to faint, to actually die, Jesus! You've never felt so embarrassed in your entire life and you insist on thinking about how you're never gonna be able to eat, think or breathe while being in this crime scene — also known as the balcony of the hotel lobby.

“Get up, then!”, you think to yourself. You pick up on a couple of the cold buns from the plate, taking a sip of the — now cold — coffee, and walking towards the lobby. Like, damn, youʼre not even dressed up, maybe the clothes are not so bad but you don��t even have any makeup on or hair done the way you liked it so much (and did it religiously every day).

But there is an actual explanation for you not being ready. The plan, initially, was just having breakfast and enjoying the view for a short period of time, so you could visit the downtown in Madrid afterwards. Now, you are running away like a criminal, with your mouth full of bread heading towards the elevator.

When you finally thought that the closing of the gray automatic doors would mean freedom, your heart has one more reason to flutter, as soon as the man steps into the cubicle before he could lose the sight of you.

You decide to chew more quickly, hiding the other roll of bun between your hands. Standing next to you, he takes off his pair of glasses, holding his coat and a crossbody bag.

He looks at you.

— Enzo — he says, and from the way he announced his name, you can tell by his accent that he speak Spanish. You swipe the back of your hand over your mouth, wiping away any remaining crumbs.

— Oi... hmm — You stammer the response in Portuguese, automatically panicking again for a few seconds when realizing that your brain couldn't think of a greeting, even in your first language. After some quick struggles, you tell him your name.

— ¿Eres de aquí? ¿de Madrid? (Are you from here? From Madrid?)

— Ahm... — You stutter, again (unfortunately). — Brasil!

He smiles.

— Ah, sí. Brasil... ¡Es un lugar magnífico! (Oh, yes. Brasil... It's a wonderful place!) — and praises. But his gaze turns sharp, he needs to know: “Entiendes lo que digo, ¿no?” (Do you understand what I say, right?)

— Sí, sí! (Yeah, yes!) — you return with a wide smile back at him, almost hyperventilating.

Your desperation is pathetically noticeable, itʼs cute actually. He watched you, smiles softly, almost like a chuckle. The curiosity gets into your nerves, you wanted to ask more questions, extend the conversation, but the elevator reaches your floor, and you leave, too withdrawn to say anything.

“Shit”, you curse at yourself, it wasn't so difficult to have a decent small talk, you should've said something, anything. You brood all day long, thinking you're such a dummy for missing the opportunity. Why did you have to act like a stupid teenager, huh? Then, after what happened, not even the museums — that you were so excited to visit — were fun anymore, no place in this goddamn city could take away that little thread of regret from you.

In the next day, however, you go down for some coffee at the same time as you did the other day, with the foolish intention of trying to see him again, and thatʼs it, it worked; like a freaking miracle. The man was sitting in an armchair in the lobby, it seemed like he was waiting for you too, what were the odds?

You can even feel your legs wobble.

— ¡Buenos días! (Good morning!) — he greets you. — ¿Cómo se dice ‘Buenos días’ en Brasil? (How do you say ‘Good morning’ in Portuguese?)

It takes a few seconds for you to think and say it back, ‘Bom dia’ (Good morning), you respond. He smiles.

— Es muy parecido (It's pretty similar) — he comments, awkwardly. Then, looks at the buffet, “¿Vamos?” (Shall we?)

Although he sometimes used terms that you completely donʼt know the meaning of and have to ask him to explain again, the conversation is, apparently, going very well. You discover that he is older, Uruguayan, and not Spanish as you immediately thought he was. You tell him a little about the country you come from, and he gets enchanted by the way your accent pronounces his name. Enzo. Paying attention to the ʽzʼ sound, unlike the pronunciation in Spanish.

it was with his company that you explored the city. The both of you went to a small square together, had some ice cream, met tourists hotspots, then chatted while exploring a little shop nearby. You hated to admit it but the situation was indeed romantic. Later in the afternoon, you were taken by him to a bar.

There, the conversation extended even further, including the beer you guys shared. When you didn't understand anything he said, (what was quite often in the conversation) you just laughed, your cheeks getting really hot and red from smiling that much. Honestly, you could leave him talking to himself for hours, just because you loved the husky sound of his deep voice and his pair of brown sparkling eyes.

It didn't mean that you were in love or anything, right? Besides, there was no way you could fall in love in such a short period of time.

But the heat you felt emanating from your own body definitely meant something. It could be because of the dark blue button-down shirt — these pieces never fail to be attractive, right? —, or the silver ring that caught your eyes every time he articulated with his hands in the air. Even his perfume... ah, the perfume! A fragrance that filled your lungs, woody but with a slight sweet note. Projecting all day long, torturing, practically inviting you to bury your face in the curve of the moreno's neck.

At nighttime, he takes you back to the hotel: his excuse was that he wanted to help you with the shopping bags, as if you had bought all of Madrid. And it was supposed to end there, at your hotel room door, simple as that. He hands you your things, and the most he does is lean over, slowly, as if he is silently asking for permission, and so, he places a small kiss on the corner of your mouth, millimeters away from touching your lipstick-painted lips. But you hold his hand, before the man walks away down the hall, you donʼt let him escape.

He approaches you again, his other hand touches the corner of your face. Warm, affectionate. ¿Qué te pasa, nena? (What's wrong with you, baby?) The focus of his brown eyes are on your mouth now, the question is whispered, seductive. The touch of his fingers bypass your jaw until it gets on your chin. ¿Quieres algo más que un beso? (Do you want something more than a kiss?)

Youʼre not sure which words to use, which command to prefer. In fact, you donʼt even want to be thinking. You want to shut your brain, to be so dissociated so that only your body can enjoy the moment. You wrapp your arms around him, your face can finally hid in the curve of his neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his. You hear the sound of his chuckle, feeling his big hands being placed on your waist. ¿Qué quieres? Dímelo. (What do you want? tell me)

You look up to him, shy. The tip of your nose rubs against his, creating a friction that, just because of the absurd proximity, makes everything even more tense, burning erotic.

— No Brasil — you say, trying to hide it by biting your lip —, se diz ‘foder.’

Enzo's smile grows, almost in slow motion. “Foder” (fuck), he repeats the word in a whisper. Again, you donʼt even have to think much to understand. Everything sounded similar, and it seemed that your mind was connected to his by a chaotic carnal desire.

The Uruguayan's lips meets yours; his hot tongue brushes against yours. Your bodies take on a life of their own. Little by little, the main setting stopped being the hotel hallway and became your room. The door gets closed with a gentle push from his feet, while the chosen path is towards your bed.

His hands moves up from your waist to grab your blouse and take it off from your warm body. When you lay on the mattress, supporting on your elbows, itʼs the cue the man needeed to messily pull down your shorts.

— ¿Quieres ponerte de rodillas? (Do you want to be on your knees?) — he asks, as he unbuttons his own blouse. The sharp look he gives you, bathed in desire, delirious. On his lips, you notice the smudged red of your lipstick. — Correrme en tu boca... (Cum in your mouth...)

Maybe itʼs your mind lost in urgency, because you donʼt process what was said to you. You keep your eyes still, your mouth half-open, taking in air, panting. So pathetic that all he does is laugh at your face, running his hands through his hair instead of going straight to the belt of his shorts.

— ¿Qué? ¿No lo comprendes, no? (What? you don't understand it, do you?) — the tone used with you bordered mockery. And contrary to what you would normally feel like, it gives room to a sick feeling, butterflies in your stomach, you feel even more horny, stimulated. He leans in close. — Mira. (Look)

And as if you were learning something for the first time, you imitate him when he parts his lips. You let the man's thumb drag over your lower lip, and then his middle and index fingers together slide over your tongue, until they occupy your mouth. “Así” (like that), he pushes and retreats with his hand, in a slow, sensual movement, “Metértelo en la boca.” (Put it in your mouth)

Ah, now you understand him well. Your face burns, the wet way the fingers come out of your mouth, a little strand of saliva kept resisting in the distance, itʼs wanton. You nod, kneeling on the wooden floor, eyes glued to him unbuckling his belt until you could have his erection in full view.

You part your lips once again, as you were ‘taught’. He fills your mouth, up to a point where your nose touches his crotch, and comes back, completely wet. It allows the Uruguayan to control the pace, to catch the corner of your face. You raise your gaze to his, surrendered not only by the lasciviousness of what you were doing, but also by the beautiful view you had of his face from that angle.

Enzo uses the index finger of his free hand to run down the curve of your nose, affectionately.

— Qué ojitos más bonitos... (You have such beautiful little eyes) — he praises you, with a smile. At that moment, you could swear your heart felt like it exploded. — Eres tan bella, nena. Preciosa. (You are so beautiful, baby. Precious) — he sighs, his head falls back, then to a slide side angle. He looks at you in such a mischievous way that you avoid returning the look. — Me encantaría correrme en tu boca... pero prefiero guardarlo todo para dentro de ti. (I would love to cum into your mouth... but I prefer to keep it all inside you)

You get taken back to bed, easily manhandled by him when you silently gave up control of the situation. He comes over, dangerously close, unlocked the front fitting of your bra, getting lost between your breasts as soon as he releases them from the tightness of the piece. You hold onto his hair, restless under the delicious sucking of his tongue, the wild bite of his teeth. You gasp, having to move away from the black threads of his hair while his mouth travels down your belly.

He releases you from the last piece of underwear too, the wet kisses were loud and pornographic, crackling on your skin. The tip of his big nose rubs lightly over the area where he knew your sensitive clit was. His palm run through your wetness, the chill of the his silver ring sliding across your boiling skin.

He clicks two, three slaps in a row that makes you shudder, whimpering softly. Enzo smiles, he didn't need to, but he returned to that mocking tone from before, of someone who had to calmly spell out the commands so you could understand.

He brings his hand to your lips, gave a little tap on the top, de aquí, and then went all the way down again, leaving a wet trail until he gave your pussy another tap, a aquí. And itʼs these little details that makes everything even better. It makes you feel so dumb, foolish, but itʼs so strangely good...

When he puts himself inside you, you lock your legs around his waist, wrapping your arms around him, feeling him dominate everything in you. He, however, insists on eye contact, lifting his torso, resting his forearm against the mattress, to look you in the eye. He smiles, panting like you; moaning low, hoarse. At first, slow, but soon he surrendered to the speed, to the sharp sound of your moans with each stronger thrust.

And there where so many thrilling impulses, fuck it... You want to cover your mouth, close your eyes to try to contain yourself. Itʼs the nasty noise of your bodies in shock, his deep voice, the scent of his hot skin. Youʼre so sensitive that your eyes get wet, a little tear runs down your cheek.

— Oh, no... Perdón, perdóname, cariño. (Oh, no... I'm so sorry, honey) — he stops, his thumb wipes the tear from your face.

'En—', you even started to want to call his name, but the frustration of no longer receiving the same thrilling sensations and to the same extent was such that you only knew how whine; your mind melting, finally murmuring “Dale, dale, papi.” (Give it to me, please, daddy)

Enzo smiles again. He leaves a few kisses on your lips, repeating your words between the kisses, as if he was making fun of your desperation and also the term you used to refer to him.

— ¿Más rápido, hm? Más duro? (Faster, hm? Harder?) — he turns you over on the bed, putting you on all fours. The dirty talk makes you smile, dumb with lust already, clinging to one of the pillows. The Uruguayan's body lead over yours, bringing his mouth close to your ear. — Tranquila, nena. Te daré todo lo que quieras. ( Calm down, baby. I will give you everything you want.)

[hannieehaee]

Svt & learning to cook food from s/o’s homecountry (aka not korean food). A different culture & food for each member would rlly cool

making you a meal from your country

content: established relationship, fluff, foreign reader (non-korean), etc.

wc: 872

a/n: this was such a cute concept omg!! i picked the food items and the home countries at random btw sorry if i got some dishes wrong pls lmk if there's any corrections i should make 😭

masterlist

seungcheol -

he wouldn't be able to stand your homesickness for even one second, feeling too sad at your sadness and deciding to do everything in his power to make you feel better. he'd ask around for traditional south african dishes leading him to make you some chakalaka while you were at work. the hours of trial and error wouldve been worth it the moment he saw the happiness in your eyes at his efforts.

jeonghan -

being quite used to simply ordering takeout whenever he so pleased, jeonghan was not used to cooking at home too often. however, if his sweet s/o wanted some homemade tom yum soup, then he'd deliver! after a quick call to mingyu (and an hour or two of messing around in the kitchen), he'd be ready with your food. he loves thai food, so this would be a win-win situation for him.

joshua -

he knew you sometimes missed australia and were unable to go back and forth as you pleased, so josh would occasionally indulge you in making meat pie for you, following a recipe you'd once made for him early in your relationship.

jun -

he'd had indian food before and loved it, so it did not take any convincing for him to decide to make you some indian street food. he'd do it out of his own volition pretty often, actually. by now, he had mastered the art of various dishes, specially panipuri, which he would frequently make for you, and sometimes he'd even share some with his members.

soonyoung -

if he sensed you growing homesick and missing your usual chinese cuisine, he'd go out of his way to seek out jun or minghao to ask what food may make you feel a bit better. he'd then take on the task of making you the most delicious street breakfast, jianbing, knowing it wasnt too difficult a task for him and that it was a meal you'd often have in your youth.

wonwoo -

wonwoo was quite known for his lack of ability in the kitchen, but that would not stop him from making you some laksa whenever you were feeling particularly homesick. despite not knowing how to make any other singaporean dishes, he'd have specifically mastered at least one in order to take care of you in such a domestic way whenever the opportunity arose.

jihoon -

never having been one to cook much (he'd much rather stick to washing dishes), he'd struggle a lot through making you some pastéis de nata for your anniversary, deciding to make a korean-portuguese fusion of meals to celebrate your relationship. ok, maybe he called mingyu over to help, but the joy in your eyes as you shared the meal with him had made it worth all of mingyu's nagging as he followed his instructions to the letter.

seokmin -

he's never been to spain, but he's had a few spanish meals throughout his life, so he'd quickly understand why you'd often complain about the lack of authentic spanish food near your shared apartment. would take it upon himself to learn how to make paella in the most perfect manner imaginable just to see a smile on your face.

mingyu -

making a pizza from scratch was easier said than done, but mingyu had taken on the task the moment you let him know of the fomo you felt at seeing him and his best friends explore your country of origin, italy. you'd watched nana tour happily, but still felt a bit off at knowing you couldn't be there with your boyfriend. but fear not! mingyu was about to bring the authentic italian experience to your door!

minghao -

he's been to the united states so many times by now that he just knows american food by heart. wouldnt even need a recipe to know how to make you some classic barbecue on a sunny afternoon. would even make an entire day out of it, grilling under the sun while you sunbathed next to him.

seungkwan -

seungkwan has always thought himself to be quite a good cook. or at least he was quite good at making korean food. japanese food was another story. he knew how badly you missed homemade sushi, never enjoying any from your nearby restaurants. he'd have to ask for your help at some point, but the end result would be the two of you sharing a nice moment making a meal together, so it all went according to plan.

vernon -

he doesnt know how to cook neither korean nor american food, but you best bet he'll try his hardest to make you traditional vietnamese food in the form of bun cha and bánh xèo. it looked easy and like it tasted good, how hard could it be? would try his bestest but eventually need to ask you for help completing the task. a+ for effort, though.

chan -

he already loves mexican food, so making it for you wouldnt even be something you'd have to request from him – he'd just do it on his own! he'd already mastered all types of street food, eventually opting to make you menudo, knowing how much you enjoyed that meal as a child.

[taurussbabe]

hi love! could i request a small fic with joao felix? Just something romantic and sweet and SUPER domestic. he's so boyfriend coded 🫶 thank youu 💓

note: this was such a sweet request, thank you so much for waiting sooo long!!🫶 wc: 0,7k

You felt the morning light cascade over you, you tried to turn around but something heavy was on top of you. You opened your eyes to see a sleeping João lying on top of you, his arms wrapped around your waist and his head laying on your chest.

You tried once again moving but it was pointless, so you just laid back and enjoyed the morning. One of your hands placed on João’s hair, playing with it and before you knew it, you were asleep.

You woke up once again, but this time, with João brushing little strands of your hair behind your ear. Even with your eyes closed you could feel the light was too much, so you just kept them closed. You felt João getting up and then the mattress dipping and suddenly the light was much less.

“Thank you for closing the blinds” you mumbled still sleepy.

“Good morning y/n. I love you” he leaned in to kiss your forehead ever so slightly, you loved that the first thing you heard every morning was him saying how much he loved you. “and you’re welcome.”

He pulled you closer, you knew it, you felt his breath on you face and his arms wrapping you closer to him, so you finally opened your eyes.

“good morning” you gave him a peck and giggled at the way he leaned in for more.

He laid down on his back and you leaned on his chest. His hand came in contact to your leg and he pulled it over his. He moved to adjust the sock on your feet and you smiled at the sweet gesture.

You stayed like that, snuggling up against each other for a while until he broke the silence.

“I don’t want to do anything, let’s stay in bed all day” he muttered against your hair.

“I’d love to, but I’m starving, I’m gonna make us breakfast” you said, starting to get up.

“fine” he scoffed and turned around, burying his head on the pillows.

You grabbed one of his sweatshirts to put one before heading downstairs to start preparing your food.

-

You were in the kitchen when you heard his steps coming down the stairs, followed by floki.

“I want a kiss from my favorite person” you heard him say.

“I don’t think you can kiss yourself” you joked.

“C��mon” he pulled you by your waist so your back was against his chest.

“I’m busy” you said, still not giving him attention.

“You look sooo good in my clothes” he whispered near your ear, and you swore you could feel him smirk, his hands finding their way under (his) your sweatshirt, his cold fingers causing goosebumps to appear on your skin.

You didn’t reply so he just made a bun on your hair with the elastic he always carries with him, kissing the back of your neck

“babyyyy” he whined “vais ser assim?” you’re going to be like this he scoffed in Portuguese

“fine, just one, I’m busy” you turned around and gave him a quick kiss before finishing your task.

“I love this”

“What? Breakfast”

“No, us!” your now fully turned around and gave him a big kiss, your arms on his shoulders. He opened his mouth like he was going to talk but closed it quickly. “You’re the reason I believe in love, you know?” he said after a long breath

You tilted your head ever so slightly to the side “what do you mean, you’ve been in love before” you stated

“well, yes, but not this. This is good, and healthy, besides, you’re the love of my life” he whispered the last part, his eyes darting to the ground like he said something wrong but God, he had just said the nicest, sweetest thing anyone has ever told you and you were not even sure how to answer so you just kissed him, your hands cradling his face and his on your waist. He pulled back after a while, making a strange face “Is something burning?”

“Oh shit, there goes breakfast”

[oosa3x]

secret moments (rd3)

i. crowded room

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆.˚✮˚.⋆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

pairing: ruben dias x f! celebrity! reader word count: 15, 334 author’s note: i don’t want to butcher the portuguese language so the conversations between Bernardo and Rúben that are italicized are meant to be them speaking in portuguese

The soft hum of his alarm clock broke the stillness of the early morning in Rúben’s apartment. He silenced it swiftly, though he’d been awake well before it rang. Morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, gently outlining the familiar shapes of his bedroom.

Rúben slid out of bed, his movements precise. The air was cool against his skin as he made his way to the kitchen, where his breakfast was already laid out from the night before. Everything in his apartment had its place—meticulous, clean, always smelling faintly of fresh linens and his cologne.

After setting his breakfast aside, he retrieved the yoga mat he kept neatly tucked in a cabinet. As he began to stretch, he felt the familiar tension in his muscles, the lingering ache from yesterday’s training. It was a good ache, the kind that reminded him of the hard work he put in every day, pushing his body to its limits, knowing it was all moving him closer to his goals.

Routine was the foundation of his days. A light breakfast, a run to clear his mind, and then training—everything had its order. For Rúben, success on the pitch was built on the discipline off of it. There was comfort in knowing how his day would unfold, especially in the quiet hours before the city stirred.

His phone buzzed on the counter—a message from Pep, reminding the team about the tactical meeting. Rúben appreciated the attention to detail; it was part of why they thrived as a unit. Every action, no matter how small, contributed to their success. He downed a ginger shot, tossed the bottle in the recycling, and scrolled through his notifications. Among the usual fan messages and match updates was a photo from his mother—a picture of their dog, Simba, back home. It grounded him, a small but meaningful reminder of how much head sacrificed to be here, how much his family had sacrificed. A reminder of why he worked so hard despite his success.

He grabbed his gear and laced up his shoes, already mentally rehearsing the day’s drills and strategies. Training wasn’t just preparation—it was where the real work happened, where his mind and body sharpened for the match ahead. Every minute spent here was another layer of assurance that when he stepped onto the pitch, there would be no doubts.

The engine of his car hummed softly as he pulled out onto the mostly empty streets. He enjoyed the rare moments of solitude, away from the noise of fans and cameras. He didn’t mind the attention, but these quiet drives were a welcome break from the constant buzz of his life.

As he approached the training ground, his thoughts shifted to the upcoming game. It was still days away, but already, he could visualize the plays, the movement of his teammates, the precision of every pass. In his mind, everything was neatly ordered, just like the rest of his life.

He arrived at the facility, nodding at the familiar security guard as he pulled in. A few other early risers were already there, the floodlights casting long shadows across the pristine grass. Another day of preparation awaited him, and he was ready.

As he stepped out of the car, the fresh smell of the field greeted him. It was still damp from the morning dew, and the air held that crisp, earthy scent that only came from a freshly watered pitch. His pulse quickened slightly, a sense of anticipation building inside him. This was his space, where everything came together.

Inside the locker room, Rúben went through his pre-training ritual—changing into his kit, securing his shin pads, lacing up his boots with the same precision he approached everything else. There were a few words exchanged with his teammates as they trickled in, but mostly, the room was filled with the quiet buzz of focus. Everyone knew why they were there.

Pep’s tactical meeting was as detailed as ever, going over each phase of play, how they’d move the ball, the patterns they’d create. Rúben absorbed it all, visualizing each scenario, mentally placing himself in position, anticipating the flow of the game before it even happened. Pep spoke with purpose, his passion for the game evident in every word, and it was contagious.

When they finally stepped onto the pitch, Rúben could feel the energy shift. The drills began, muscle memory taking over as they worked through their warm-ups and exercises. Each movement was calculated, each pass sharp, each tackle precise. This was where he honed his craft, where every little detail mattered.

And as the sun climbed higher in the sky, bathing the training ground in light, Rúben felt the familiar rhythm of the day settle into place. It was just another training session, but to him, it was everything. Each moment, each drop of sweat, each burst of energy was a step toward something bigger. Toward the next match, the next victory, the next piece of silverware.

When training wrapped up, and the team headed back inside, Rúben stayed a little longer. He liked to take a few extra minutes to work on his own, refining the small details that only he noticed. It was part of what made him who he was, part of why he’d made it this far.

As he gathered his things and headed back toward the locker room, he heard footsteps behind him, "Hey, Rúben," Bernardo called out, his voice light with its usual upbeat tone, "You want to come over for dinner tonight? Ines is cooking, and she’s been wanting to try this new recipe. You know she’s gonna ask if you’re coming."

Rúben smiled as he adjusted the strap on his bag, "Sounds tempting," he replied, slowing down so Bernardo could catch up, "But I’ve actually got plans tonight. Heading to a concert."

"A concert?" Bernardo raised an eyebrow, clearly curious, "Since when do you have time for concerts? Who’s playing?"

"6lack," Rúben said with a shrug, "We connected on Instagram a while back and he messaged me the other day, and invited me and thought, why not? Haven’t been to one in a while, and I like his music.”

Bernardo’s eyes lit up in recognition, "6lack? Sounds fun. Alright, but you’re missing out on Ines’s cooking, just so you know. You better make up for it."

Rúben chuckled, "I’ll send my apologies to Inês. I’m sure I’ll hear about it next time. But yeah, I’m looking forward to it. Should be a good break from all of this."

Bernardo gave him a playful nudge, "Just don’t get too wild. We’ve got training tomorrow."

"Never," Rúben shot back, shaking his head, "You know me."

"Too well," Bernardo grinned, "Alright, man, enjoy the concert. I’ll tell Ines you’re off the hook—for now."

With that, Bernardo headed off, leaving Rúben to finish packing up. As he made his way out of the training ground, he couldn’t help but feel a little excitement building for the night ahead. Football might be his world, but sometimes, stepping out of it for a while felt just as important.

Rúben headed home, ready to switch gears for the night. The drive back to his apartment was smooth, the traffic not yet too thick. A concert would be a nice change of pace, and it wasn’t often that his schedule allowed him the chance to enjoy something like this.

The first thing he did when he got back to his apartment was head straight for the shower. The hot water hit his skin, easing the tension in his muscles from the day’s training. He closed his eyes, letting the steam rise around him, savoring the moment of peace. He had a routine for everything, and unwinding after a day on the pitch was no exception. The shower helped wash away the lingering intensity of the drills, the tactical sessions, the endless focus.

Once he was out, he wrapped a towel around his waist and padded to his bedroom, the scent of his shower gel lingering in the air. His wardrobe, like the rest of his apartment, was meticulously organized. He picked out a sleek black shirt and paired it with a camo green Louis Vuitton jacket—casual but sharp enough for the occasion. Concerts were low-key, but Rúben liked to look put together, even off the pitch. After slipping into a pair of well-fitted jeans and comfortable sneakers, he checked himself in the mirror.

Satisfied, he grabbed his phone, keys, and wallet, then headed for the door and made his way down to the garage. The city was more alive than it had been that morning, the streets buzzing with activity. As he drove toward the concert venue, he could already feel a different kind of energy building in him—a mix of anticipation and excitement. It wasn’t the same as the buzz he got before a match, but it was close.

The venue came into view, lights glowing against the backdrop of the darkening sky. People were already lined up outside, the hum of conversation filling the air as fans gathered, all of them there for the same reason. He parked his car and made his way toward the entrance. He adjusted his jacket, pulling it down just a little lower to shield himself from the cold, and made his way toward the VIP entrance. Security at the door checked his name off the list quickly, allowing him to bypass the crowd outside. Just as he was about to slip through the door, a voice called out from behind him.

"Rúben! Is that you?"

He turned slightly, spotting a young fan standing a few feet away, holding out her phone hopefully. She looked nervous, almost shy as she approached him.

"Can I—uh—can I get a photo? Please? I’m a huge fan.”

Rúben offered a warm smile, the kind he always gave when people recognized him, despite the effort he’d put into staying low-key tonight, "Sure, absolutely." he said, stepping over to her.

Her face lit up as she quickly held her phone out for a selfie. Rúben leaned in just enough, flashing a quick, polite smile as she snapped the picture, "Thank you so much," she gushed, her voice filled with excitement.

"No problem," he replied with a smile, "Enjoy the concert."

With a quick nod to the security at the VIP entrance, he was escorted through a maze of hallways behind the stage. The sound of the crowd’s distant cheers and the thrum of the bass grew fainter as he made his way toward the backstage area. He found a spot near the bar, ordering a bottle of water as he settled in, glancing out toward the stage.

As the lights dimmed even further and the crowd's excitement grew, a text lit up Rúben’s phone. He glanced down at the message—it was from one of 6lack’s team members, letting him know that he could come backstage before the show kicked off. Rúben hadn’t expected the opportunity to meet up before the performance, but the invitation was too good to pass up.

Rúben and 6lack—Ricardo— had been connected online for a while—liking each other’s posts, occasionally exchanging messages about football or music. It was the kind of casual friendship that felt normal in the digital age, though they had never actually met in person until now.

When he reached the backstage area, he saw Ricardo standing near a table with a few members of his team, looking calm and focused as he prepared for the show. His signature laid-back demeanor was apparent, even as people bustled around him with last-minute adjustments and preparations.

“Rúben!” Ricardo called out when he saw him, a grin spreading across his face. He crossed the room with an easy swagger, extending a hand, "Good to finally meet in person, bro."

Rúben smiled, shaking his hand firmly, "Likewise. I’ve been looking forward to this."

"Man, I’m glad you could make it tonight. I know you’ve got a busy schedule, but I had to make sure you were here for this one," Ricardo said, his tone genuine.

Rúben nodded, taking in the relaxed vibe of the backstage crew, "I wasn’t gonna miss it. Been a fan of your music for a while. It’s a good break from the usual football grind."

Ricardo chuckled, "I hear that. I’ve seen you killing it out there, though. Respect for what you do on the field."

"I appreciate that so much, man." Rúben agreed, feeling a sense of mutual respect, "I’ve got to say, you’ve got the whole place buzzing. People are ready for this show."

Ricardo grinned, nodding toward the stage, "That’s what I like to hear. I’ve got some surprises for tonight, so it should be a good one. Maybe after the show, we’ll kick it a bit, yeah?"

"Definitely," Rúben replied, feeling more at ease. The conversation flowed naturally, as if they’d known each other for longer than just a few online exchanges.

Just then, one of the crew members signaled to Ricardo that it was almost time to go on stage. Ricardo gave Rúben a nod, "Alright, man, I’ve got to get out there and do my thing. I’ll catch you after?"

"Go kill it out there," Rúben said with a smile, "I’ll be watching."

With a final fist bump, Ricardo disappeared into the bustling chaos of the stage preparations, leaving Rúben to head back to his spot on the VIP balcony. As he made his way back, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. Meeting Ricardo in person had felt easy, natural—like they were already on the same wavelength.

As 6lack’s intro music filled the arena and the lights dimmed even further, Rúben found himself fully immersed in the atmosphere. The view of the stage was incredible—he could see the entire audience, their hands raised, voices chanting. He glanced around the venue, soaking in the view. From the balcony, he had the perfect vantage point: a sea of swaying bodies, phone lights twinkling like stars, and the stage illuminated with flashes of neon and smoke.

Rúben was fully immersed in the music, his voice joining in with the crowd as he sang along to 6lack's opening track. It felt almost surreal—singing along to his favorite artist from such a prime spot. He was in his own world when a tap on his shoulder pulled him back to reality.

A member of Ricardo’s team stood there, leaning in close to be heard over the booming music, "Hey, Ricky asked for us to get you. He said wants you to watch from over there."

His crew member pointed down to where the side stage area was. Rúben blinked, surprised for a moment, before nodding with a smile. Watching from the side stage wasn’t something he’d expected, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. He gave a final glance at the crowd below, taking in the view one last time from the VIP balcony before following the staff member down a stairway.

As they moved through the backstage corridors, the distant roar of the crowd filled the air, but the atmosphere felt different now—more intimate, a behind-the-scenes glimpse of the magic.

As he got closer to the stage, Rúben could feel the bass thumping through his chest as Ricardo’s voice filled the room, effortlessly weaving between tracks that had become anthems for so many people in the audience. From his spot on the side, Rúben could see it all—the connection between the artist and the fans, the passion in Ricardo’s performance. He had a deep appreciation for the creativity that Ricardo put into his music, but witnessing it live, up close, was something else entirely. It reminded him of the way he approached football—the hours of work, the attention to detail, the desire to give his best every time.

The concert flowed seamlessly, and Rúben was glad he’d taken Ricardo up on his offer. The side-stage view felt intimate, like he was part of the performance itself, rather than just a spectator. It was the perfect balance of being in the thick of the action without the distraction of the crowd around him.

He was still immersed in the rhythm of the concert, but he could feel his pulse quicken when his eyes locked onto you—Y/N L/N. In that moment, the world around him seemed to slow down, the music fading slightly as his attention zeroed in on your presence.

You were otherworldly, like you didn’t quite belong to this reality but floated just above it. Your beauty wasn’t something that could be contained; it radiated from you like a soft, glowing aura. It was impossible for him to look away. You wore a sleek, body-hugging gray mini dress that contrasted beautifully with the black of your sheer tights and pointed heels. A long leather coat flowed behind you, adding an edge to the soft elegance of your look.

He noticed you casually handing your clutch to a man standing next to you, your fingers brushing against his arm with a brief familiarity. Then, with a slow, effortless movement, you shrugged off your jacket, letting it fall into the man’s hands. Your dress clung to your frame more visibly now, every curve and line accentuated in the soft lighting of the venue.

It was then that someone approached you from behind, efficiently securing a mic pack to the back of your dress and handing you a pair of in-ears. The transition was seamless, as if you had done this a thousand times before. No hesitation, no fuss—just an easy, practiced routine that hinted at your professionalism.

Rúben’s eyes widened as he realized you weren't just here to enjoy the show; you were about to take the stage. His heart skipped a beat, suddenly seeing you in a completely different light. As the tech stepped away, you rolled your shoulders slightly, adjusting the in-ears, and for a brief moment, your gaze seemed to lock on him—just for a heartbeat—and he swore the room tilted. His chest tightened, and he quickly looked away, feeling an odd mix of nerves and admiration rise within him. The casual ease with which you transitioned from guest to artist was captivating.

The lights in the venue dimmed, signaling the start of your surprise appearance, and the crowd began to buzz with excitement. The anticipation was palpable. Rúben could feel the energy shift in the room, every head turning toward the stage, every heartbeat seemingly in sync, waiting for you. He had watched countless performances before, but something about this moment felt different. Special.

The lights dimmed, and the familiar opening chords of your song with Ricardo began to pulse through the venue. The crowd's energy shifted, rising in anticipation. Then, Ricardo’s voice boomed through the speakers, introducing you with reverence, "Manchester, Y/N L/N!"

Rúben swore the crowd broke the sound barrier.

A sea of cheers erupted, vibrating through the air as every spotlight in the venue honed in on the center of the stage, creating a single, glowing path just for you. And then, as if the entire room held its breath, you appeared.

You strutted onto the stage, owning every inch of it, your body moving in perfect rhythm with the beat of the music. The lights danced around you, casting a radiant halo over your silhouette, and with each sway of your hips, you commanded the room. The sensuality of your movements was undeniable—each step deliberate, each shift in your body fluid, and the way the light caught you in motion felt almost like a performance in itself.

You moved like the music was part of you, like you were born for the stage. Every person in that room—Rúben included—was transfixed, lost in the hypnotic allure of your presence. There was something almost electric in the air, as if the entire venue had been waiting for this exact moment, for you.

Rúben couldn’t take his eyes off you. The stage lights flickered across you, illuminating you in soft, warm tones. Your presence on stage was nothing short of mesmerizing. You hadn’t even sung a single note yet, and still, you commanded every inch of the room. The ethereal glow that surrounded you only seemed to amplify under the stage lights, casting you in an almost celestial light.

And then, you began to sing and it sucked all the air out of his lungs.

Your voice was like velvet, rich and smooth, effortlessly drawing everyone in. Rúben’s heart raced as your voice flowed over the crowd, wrapping around him like a spell.

As the performance continued, he found himself unable to tear his gaze away. It wasn’t just the sound of your voice or the way you moved—it was the way you seemed to pour your soul into every note, as if each word held a piece of your story. There was a vulnerability in your performance, something deeply personal that you were sharing with everyone, yet somehow it felt like it was meant just for him.

He knew people talked about your beauty all the time, but seeing you, hearing you live... it was something else entirely.

He’d seen you on TV before, had heard your voice on the radio—who hadn’t? Y/N L/N was a household name, known across the world. There wasn’t a person who hadn’t come across your face on a magazine cover or heard your songs while flipping through stations. You were everywhere, larger than life, a global icon.

Yet seeing you so close, just a few steps away, made everything he thought he knew about you seem small. The screen, the photos—they hadn’t done you any justice. Your presence in the flesh, on that stage, was overwhelming. It wasn’t just your beauty, though that was undeniable—it was the way you held the room, the effortless way you commanded every ounce of attention. You were absolutely magnetic.

As the song reached its final notes, your voice soared effortlessly, filling the room with a richness that could only be appreciated fully in person. The crowd was completely under your spell, swaying with your every word, every beat. The way you moved on stage, so fluid and at ease, made it seem like the music itself was flowing through your veins.

With one final, powerful note, the song ended, and the entire venue erupted into applause and cheers. The sound was deafening. Rúben felt the vibration of it in his chest, as if the entire room had come alive in a collective wave of admiration for you.

Ricardo stepped forward, a broad smile on his face as he raised his microphone, "Give it up one more time for Y/N L/N!” His voice boomed over the crowd, but the audience was already screaming, unable to contain their excitement.

You glowed under the spotlight, gave a small, graceful bow, your smile wide and full of gratitude. You turned to Ricardo, hugging him tightly as he whispered something in your ear that made you laugh. Then you faced the crowd once more, your eyes shining as you lifted your hand to your lips and blew a kiss into the sea of fans.

“Thank you, Manchester!” Your voice rang out, as bright as the lights that framed you. The crowd roared in response, a few people calling out your name. You gave one final wave before stepping off the stage, leaving behind an electric energy that still buzzed in the air, as if the room hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that you were gone.

Rúben remained rooted to his spot, his heart still pounding. He kept his eyes on you as you reached the same side of the stage you had come out from, your figure still glowing from the energy of the performance. You were greeted by a few people waiting in the wings, who embraced you with wide smiles and excited exchanges. There was a warmth in your interactions, something genuine that caught Rúben off guard. Despite your otherworldly presence on stage, you were undeniably human in these small moments—laughing and hugging the crew like they were family.

He watched you brush your hand through your ponytail, still catching your breath from the performance, an easy grace radiating off of you. As you spoke to those around you, your body language was relaxed, your joy contagious, even from afar. Every now and then, you glanced back toward the crowd, waving one last time to the fans still cheering your name.

Rúben’s heart thudded harder in his chest. He had no reason to feel this way—he’d seen celebrities before, met people with immense fame, maybe not your level of fame, but close enough. Yet, something about you lingered with him, even now. You hadn’t just performed; you’d given a piece of yourself to the crowd, and in doing so, had taken a part of him with you. He tried to refocus on Ricardo’s performance, the deep bass of the music vibrating through the floor as the show seemed to be nearing its end. But no matter how hard he concentrated, his attention kept slipping. He couldn’t help it, his eyes kept drifting back to you.

You had settled back in on the side of the stage, casual and composed, your earlier energy from the performance still faintly lingering around you. In your hand, you held a drink that looked like a vodka cranberry, the deep red liquid catching the stage lights just enough to shimmer. You took a slow sip, as if you hadn’t just captivated an entire room minutes before.

Rúben suddenly felt an inexplicable urge to know more about you stirring within him. You were relaxed now, chatting with those around you, completely at ease. It was a stark contrast to the fierce presence you commanded on stage, yet equally captivating. He found himself wondering how you managed to effortlessly switch between those worlds—public and private—without missing a beat.

Rúben shook himself out of it, realizing he was staring. He chuckled softly, embarrassed at how easily he had been captivated by your presence. But then again, who wouldn’t be? This was Y/N L/N—the woman who made headlines just by walking down the street, who set trends without trying. He was just one person among many who couldn’t help but be drawn in by your charm.

As Rúben's eyes wandered over to you again, he noticed someone else—a familiar face standing beside you. It took him a second to place her, but then he remembered: it was Ricardo’s girlfriend, the one he’d met backstage for a brief moment. You were both laughing together, exchanging a few words between songs, your heads leaning in close as if sharing a private joke.

You both looked like you were having a great time, completely at ease in each other’s company. It was clear that you two were friends, and your bond seemed natural, like you’d known each other for years. Rúben watched as you sang along to another track. The sight of you two together like this made you seem that much more grounded, more human. You weren't just the unattainable star everyone knew; you were someone with friendships, someone who could relax and enjoy a night out like anyone else. It made you even more fascinating to him, seeing this side of you—the side that was rarely captured by the media.

As Rúben leaned against the side railing, letting the music thrum in the background, he caught a whisper from the group of people standing nearby.

“She really killed it tonight,” one of them said, admiration thick in their tone, "But honestly, she always does.”

“Yeah, but this one felt different, right? Like she was putting everything out there,” another added, their eyes following your movements, "She’s been through a lot lately.”

Rúben’s brow furrowed slightly. He knew the press had a habit of magnifying every part of your life, but he hadn’t paid close attention to the specifics. Now, hearing those words—"she’s been through a lot"—he felt a strange, protective instinct rise within him.

He let his eyes drift back to you. You were laughing now, tipping your head back as you clinked glasses with someone beside you. The media only ever showed pieces of you— the glamorous parts, the scandalous headlines. But standing here, watching you from the edge of the room, Rúben felt like he was seeing something more—something the world didn’t often get to witness.

As the final song echoed through the venue and Ricardo’s deep, melodic voice faded out, the crowd erupted into cheers. The energy in the room was electric, a palpable buzz of excitement from a performance that had exceeded expectations. Rúben glanced toward the side stage, where the crew was already preparing to draw the curtains. Ricardo and his band gave a wave and bow to the crowd as the curtains reached the bottom. His face lit up with a satisfied smile, before turning and heading offstage. Rúben could see him immediately spot his girlfriend and you, who were still standing on the opposite side, clearly enjoying the show until the very last moment.

Without hesitation, Ricardo made his way toward both of you, his pace relaxed but purposeful. He enveloped his girlfriend in a warm hug, exchanging a few quiet words with her, before turning to you with an easy grin. You greeted him with the kind of familiarity that spoke of years of friendship, giving him a playful punch on the arm before you all broke into laughter. Rúben couldn’t hear what you were saying, but the vibe between you was unmistakable—comfortable, close, and full of genuine affection.

As the stage crew dismantled equipment and the audience slowly filtered out of the venue, Ricardo motioned for you and his girlfriend to follow him backstage, clearly intent on keeping the night going. It seemed like an after-party of sorts was about to unfold, something more intimate, away from the chaos of the concert.

Rúben watched as the three of you disappeared behind the curtain, a small group of your close friends and team trailing behind. For a moment, he debated whether he should just head home, let the night end on a high note, but before he could decide, the same crew member who came to get him, appeared at his side.

"Yo, Ricardo wanted to make sure you come back and join us," the guy said with a friendly grin, "We’re all hanging out backstage for a bit, nothing too wild."

Rúben hesitated for just a second, but the idea of spending more time in that laid-back, off-the-clock vibe felt too good to pass up. He nodded, offering a quick smile, "Yeah, I’m in."

With that, he followed the crew member through the maze of corridors that led to the backstage lounge area. The atmosphere back there was completely different from the buzzing concert crowd outside. It was more intimate, the lights softer, and there was a relaxed, celebratory vibe in the air.

When he entered the lounge, Ricardo was already there with his arm slung casually around his girlfriend, deep in conversation with you, who was laughing at something one of their friends had said. Drinks were being passed around, and there was music playing at a low volume, enough to keep the energy up but not overpowering the conversation.

Rúben caught Ricardo’s eye as he stepped in, and the singer immediately waved him over, "Rúben, man! Glad you made it," he called out, his voice full of warmth.

As Rúben joined the group, he suddenly found himself standing just a few feet from you. Up close, you were even more striking, your smile infectious as you bantered effortlessly with the people around you. For the first time that night, Rúben felt a flicker of nerves.

You glanced over at him, your eyes bright and curious. For a second, your gazes locked, and though it was brief, it was enough to feel the weight of your presence, how naturally you commanded attention even when you weren't trying to.

"Looks like we’ve got the whole crew here now," Ricardo said with a grin, clearly in good spirits as the group gathered closer, "Let’s keep the night going!"

As Rúben settled into the relaxed atmosphere of the backstage gathering, someone from the crew handed him a drink. He accepted it with a polite nod but quickly swapped it out for a glass of water garnished with a lime wedge instead, not really in the mood for alcohol. He took in a small sip, and glanced around at everyone mingling.

Despite all the movement around him, Rúben’s gaze kept flickering back to you, yet again. You were still deep in conversation with Ricardo’s girlfriend, your laughter filling the air every now and then. You looked so at ease, your eyes lighting up as you talked, you drink in hand as you leaned in closer to hear what someone was saying. He couldn’t help but be drawn to you again and again, fascinated by your energy and the way you seemed to move through the space like you belonged there, without trying to demand the attention that naturally gravitated toward you.

Rúben was mid-sip, his gaze once again flicking over to you, when he felt a presence beside him. He turned slightly and saw Ricardo approach with an easy smile on his face.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Ricardo asked, leaning against the small table nearby, his tone casual but friendly.

Rúben smiled, lowering his glass, "Yeah, man, it was incredible. You killed it out there,” he said honestly, "Your energy, the way you had the crowd—it was on another level.

Ricardo chuckled, nodding appreciatively, "Glad you had a good time. It was one of those nights where everything just felt right, you know?” He glanced around the room before looking back at Rúben, noticing how his eyes had flicked back to you a couple of times. With a knowing grin, he added, “Looks like you’ve got your attention elsewhere, though.”

Rúben blinked, caught a little off guard, but laughed it off with a shrug, "Nah, I was just… taking it all in,” he said, trying to play it cool.

Ricardo smirked, his eyes sparkling with amusement, "Taking it all in, huh? Sure.” He didn’t push it further, but there was a playful edge to his voice, "You know, Y/N’s good people. A lot more chill than the headlines make her out to be.”

Rúben’s brow lifted slightly, intrigued, "I’ve heard that,” he admitted, glancing over at you again, "But it’s different seeing her in person.”

Ricardo nodded, clearly understanding, "Yeah, I get that. She’s like family, honestly. Been through a lot, but she’s one of the real ones.” He gave Rúben a pat on the shoulder before straightening up, "Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you had a good time tonight. Stick around—we’re keeping it low-key, but there’s plenty of time to relax.”

Rúben smiled, feeling the genuine warmth from Ricardo, "Thanks, man. I’m glad I came out tonight.” The energy of the evening still buzzed in his veins, not just from the music but from witnessing something unforgettable. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, to be so pulled in by someone he’d only known through screens and sounds. There was a weight to the night that he hadn’t anticipated—a sense that something was shifting, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Ricardo noticed Rúben’s glances toward you once more and couldn’t help but grin. He nudged him slightly with a knowing look, "Want me to introduce you to her?”

Rúben’s heart skipped a beat, but he quickly masked it with a chuckle, shaking his head, "I don’t know, man. She’s probably busy… and it’s Y/N L/N,” he added under his breath. There was no hiding the fact that he was nervous. The truth was, you had been his first real celebrity crush when he was 15. Your posters had lined his cousins’ walls; you were someone he thought was completely untouchable. And now, he was standing in the same room, and Ricardo was offering an introduction like it was nothing.

Ricardo wasn’t having it, "Come on, she’s cool. Trust me,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. Before Rúben could protest further, Ricardo was already leading him toward her.

You were mid-conversation with Ricardo’s girlfriend, laughing at something she had just said, when they approached. Ricardo smoothly interrupted, "Y/N, this is my friend Rúben. Thought you two should meet.”

As you turned to face him, Rúben felt like the world paused for a moment. His breath hitched, his nerves immediately heightening as he took in the sight of you up close. He had seen you in magazines, on posters, in music videos — but none of that compared to this. Your beauty was effortless, natural, and completely disarming. It was in the way you smiled, the way your eyes sparkled with a warmth he wasn’t prepared for. His heart raced, and suddenly the room felt smaller, like there was just the two of you in it.

You extended your hand toward him, a friendly smile gracing your lips. “Hi, nice to meet you,” you said, your voice soft but confident, a blend of casualness and elegance that made his stomach flip.

As soon as Rúben’s hand touched yours, he felt a jolt rush through him. It was like electricity, a strange combination of excitement and disbelief that left his skin tingling. He forced himself to keep his grip firm but gentle, trying to steady his nerves, "Nice to meet you too,” he replied, keeping his cool despite the fact that he could hardly believe this was happening.

Before the conversation could go any further, Ricardo’s girlfriend tapped him on the arm, "Babe, we should go say hi to the event organizers,” she said.

Ricardo nodded, but not before throwing a glance at Rúben, "You two chat,” he said casually, "We’ll be back in a bit.”

Rúben shot him a look, knowing full well Ricardo was leaving them alone on purpose. As they walked off, he turned back to you, trying not to feel the weight of the moment.

“So…” Rúben began, “have you known Ricardo long?”

“Yeah, for a few years now,” you said with a smile, "I actually met him through Frank Ocean.”

Rúben’s eyes widened, "You know Frank Ocean?! What am I even asking? Of course you do.” He let out a laugh, shaking his head, "I’m a huge Frank fan.”

Your smile deepened, clearly pleased by his reaction, "Same here. His music is unreal, right? He’s one of the most genuine, talented people I’ve ever met. We became friends through some mutual contacts.”

“That’s incredible,” Rúben said, still slightly in awe, "Frank’s music—it just hits differently. He’s one of those artists who makes you stop and actually feel everything. It’s like each song pulls you into his world.”

He watched as you nodded, your eyes lighting up as you leaned in slightly, "Exactly. That’s why I love his work so much. It’s personal, raw, and makes you reflect in ways you didn’t expect.”

Rúben couldn’t help but smile, feeling more comfortable as your conversation flowed, "I’ve always admired people like that—artists who are unapologetically themselves and let their music speak for them.”

“Totally,” you agreed, "And I think that’s why Ricky and I became such good friends. We have similar vibes, and he’s always surrounded by people who are real, you know? It’s rare in this industry.”

Rúben nodded, his nerves fading as you two continued to talk. It wasn’t long before he realized that you were every bit as down-to-earth and genuine as Ricardo had said, and the more you talked, the more you seemed to connect.

As the conversation flowed, you looked at Rúben with genuine curiosity, "So, how do you know Ricardo?”

Rúben chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, "Funny enough, this is actually my first time meeting him in person. I messaged him online, told him I was a big fan of his music. And then he invited me to this show.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a teasing smile, "He just invited you like that? Because you’re a fan? What are you not telling me?” you teased, playfully narrowing your eyes, "Are you in the music industry here in England or something?”

Rúben grinned, playing along with your teasing tone, "No, no, not in the music industry. Though that would be kind of cool. Maybe I went into the wrong line of work,” he joked, keeping his response light and vague.

You laughed, clearly intrigued by his answer but not pushing any further, "Well, whatever line of work you’re in, it must be pretty interesting if Ricardo thought of inviting you out.”

Rúben smiled, relieved that you hadn’t pressed him on it, though he could tell from your expression that you were still curious, "Let’s just say it’s different. Maybe I’ll tell you more about it later,” he said, keeping the mystery alive.

You chuckled, shaking your head, "Alright, I’ll hold you to that. But you’re definitely keeping me guessing now.”

As you talked, Rúben noticed your glass was nearly empty. Trying to keep the conversation going, he offered casually, “Need a refill? I can grab one for you.”

Just as you smiled and were about to answer, a tall, well-built man appeared by your side, handing you a fresh drink, "Here you go,” the man said in a low, protective voice, before adding, “You good? Ready to head out soon?”

Rúben’s chest tightened for a second, his mind jumping to conclusions. The man seemed to move with the kind of ease and familiarity that made Rúben think, that’s got to be her boyfriend. He tried to play it cool, but a small wave of disappointment washed over him. He remembered hearing about your breakup a few months ago with your on-and-off boyfriend—not that he’d ever admit to following celebrity gossip.

He watched as you thanked the man with a quick nod and turned back to Rúben, "Not yet,” you said, glancing at the man with a casual smile before shifting your attention back to the conversation, "He’s just making sure I don’t wander off or get caught up in the crowd.”

Rúben blinked, realization settling in—oh, that’s her bodyguard, not her boyfriend. He chuckled internally at his own assumption, feeling a sense of relief he wouldn’t dare admit. Trying to keep things smooth, he nodded with a smile, “It’s good to have someone looking out for you in a crowd like this.”

For a moment, Rúben noticed a shift in your expression. Your eyes grew distant, your smile faltering just slightly as you quietly said, "I have to." It was almost as if you were caught up in a thought that pulled you away from the present, something more serious than your lighthearted conversation.

Rúben opened his mouth to say something, unsure of how to respond to that fleeting moment of vulnerability, but before he could, you seemed to snap yourself out of it. Your usual warmth and energy returned, and you smiled again, continuing your conversation as if nothing had happened.

“So,” you said, your tone light again, “you were saying something about going into the wrong line of work? What do you actually do?”

Rúben felt the moment pass but couldn’t shake the brief glimpse of something deeper behind your smile. He pushed the thought aside for now, leaning into the conversation, "Ah, well, let’s just say it’s nothing as exciting as music,” he replied, keeping the mystery alive with a grin.

You laughed, shaking your head, "Wow, you’re really not gonna tell me, huh?” You gave him a playful look, your smile teasing, "This isn’t fair—you know what I do!”

Rúben chuckled, feeling the playful tension between them, "Alright, alright, I’ll give you that,” he said, trying to keep things light, "But I feel like I have to keep a little mystery, right? Besides, if I just told you, where’s the fun in that?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms with an amused grin, "Oh, I see how it is. So you’re one of those guys, huh? All mysterious, keeping secrets,” you teased, your voice full of mock seriousness, "I bet you think it makes you more interesting.”

Rúben chuckled, shaking his head, "Maybe, a little mystery doesn’t hurt anybody,” he said, his eyes gleaming with humor, "Besides, it’s not going to be a secret forever... just for now.”

You leaned in slightly, closing the distance between you two, "For now? So you’re saying there’s a chance I’ll crack the code eventually?”

He tilted his head, unable to keep the smile off his face as he met your gaze, "Maybe. Depends on how curious you are.”

Your laugh was light, the kind that came from genuine enjoyment of the banter between you, "Oh, I’m very curious. You’ve made sure of that.” You playfully bumped his arm, and the tension between you shifted from lighthearted to something a bit more electric. There was a pull now, one that neither of you seemed inclined to break.

Rúben’s smile softened, the playful glint in his eyes still there but mixed with something else, "Good,” he said quietly, his voice lower now, "I think I like that.” He laughed, the banter between you flowing easily, but he could tell you were still curious. He liked the back-and-forth, and there was something fun about holding back just enough to keep you guessing.

He watched as you suddenly shifted, your tone apologetic, "I’m so sorry, but my feet are killing me," you said with a slight laugh, glancing down at your heels.

Rúben’s gaze followed instinctively, skimming down your long, elegant legs before landing on the heels that looked more fashionable than comfortable. He quickly composed himself, snapping his attention back up to your face, feeling a little embarrassed for having let his eyes linger.

You smiled, seemingly unaware of his momentary lapse, "I really want to keep talking to you, but can we take a seat over there?” you gestured toward a cozy seating area in the corner.

Rúben grinned, grateful for the more relaxed setting, "Of course,” he said, motioning for you to lead the way. As you made your way toward the seats, he couldn’t help but be impressed by how effortlessly you moved through the room, even while navigating uncomfortable shoes and a full conversation.

He also couldn’t help but notice two of your bodyguards discreetly following along, maintaining a close but respectful distance. Their presence was subtle, but it was clear that they were always watching, always making sure you were safe. He realized that, for someone like you, this was just a part of your everyday life—never being fully alone, always having someone keeping an eye out.

When you both reached the seating area, you gracefully settled into one of the plush chairs, letting out a small sigh of relief as you sat down for the first time in hours today.

Rúben took the seat beside you, glancing briefly at the bodyguards before turning his attention back to you, "Better?” he asked with a smile, keeping the mood light despite the ever-present security nearby.

“Much better,” you replied, your smile warm and genuine, "Thanks for not judging me for needing a break. These shoes were definitely not made for standing all night.”

Rúben chuckled, "No judgment here. You’re handling it better than most would.” He leaned back in his seat, finding himself more at ease as you settled into the quieter corner of the room.

You glanced over at your bodyguard, Eric, and motioned toward him, "Eric, can you get my friend Rúben here a drink, please?” you asked with a smile, noticing his glass was nearly empty.

You turned back to Rúben, and eyed his drink, "Gin?”

Rúben laughed softly and shook his head, "Oh, no, that’s okay. It’s actually just water.”

You smiled, clearly amused, "Water it is, then.” You leaned back in your chair, looking relaxed as Eric nodded and moved off to grab another drink, "Keeping it light tonight, huh?”

Rúben grinned, "Yeah, trying to keep it simple.”

You chuckled softly, clearly appreciating his easygoing approach, "I admire that. Most people wouldn’t say no to a drink, especially at an event like this."

Rúben shrugged, his smile easy, "I guess I’ve learned to pace myself. Especially when I’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow."

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piquing again, "You’ve really got me wondering what it is you do that’s got you thinking about tomorrow already."

Rúben smiled, his expression softening as he looked at you, "I guess I just prefer to let things unfold naturally,” he replied, his tone warm but playful, "Besides, the focus is on tonight, right? We’ll get to that part when it’s time.”

There was something about the way he said it—casual, but with an underlying confidence—that made you feel like you didn’t need all the answers just yet.

You laughed, leaning in a bit closer, "Alright, fine. I’ll play along for now. But, like I said, don’t think I won’t get it out of you eventually," you said, your tone playful but determined.

Rúben grinned, feeling more relaxed now that the conversation had found its rhythm, "I’m sure you will.”

You shot him a curious look, then changed the subject, "So, what did you think of the concert?"

"It was amazing," Rúben replied, nodding, "I’ve been a fan for a while, but this was next level. He has such a presence on stage—way different than just listening to his tracks."

You nodded in agreement, "Exactly. It’s like he brings something extra when he performs live. I’ve seen him a few times now, and it never gets old."

Rúben smiled, appreciating how easily the conversation was flowing between you, "It was my first time seeing you live too."

The comment caught you slightly off guard, but you couldn’t help but smile, "Oh yeah? What did you think?” You asked, leaning in a little, genuinely curious about his thoughts.

Rúben hesitated for a moment, not wanting to sound too over the top, but the truth was, the performance had left a lasting impression on him, "It was... incredible,” he said, meeting your eyes, "You have this presence on stage, like you’re giving a piece of yourself in every note. It’s something you don’t forget.”

Your smile deepened at his sincerity, warmth flooding your chest, "Thank you,” you said softly, genuinely touched by his words, "I’m glad you got to see it live, then. It means a lot when people get what I’m trying to put out there."

He gave you a quick smile. Eric returned with Rúben’s water, handing it to him with a nod before stepping back to his spot. Rúben took a sip, and you looked at him, your expression thoughtful, as if you were about to say something deeper. Instead, you smiled again, keeping things light, "So, what else do you do for fun, besides keeping secrets and attending concerts?" you teased.

Rúben laughed, feeling more comfortable than he had expected to, "Well, I do enjoy concerts when I can make it out to them. And keeping secrets? That’s just an added skill."

Your laugh was infectious, and you shook your head, "You’re a hard one to crack, Rúben."

Rúben couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the sound of your laughter, like he had unlocked something special. The way your eyes lit up made him feel like he’d done something right, like maybe he was getting closer to you without even trying.

“To answer your question though, I like to stay active—running, hiking, anything that keeps me moving. But I also enjoy downtime with friends, whether it's playing card games or just hanging out, nothing too crazy. And when I get the chance, I love reading or catching up on a good film—helps clear my mind."

You leaned back in your seat, still smiling, but with a slightly more thoughtful expression now. “Well, I guess it’s good that you have hobbies outside of work. I feel like I’m always on the go. Between filming, recording, meetings… sometimes I forget what downtime even feels like.”

Rúben nodded, his smile softening. “I can imagine. You must have a pretty packed schedule.”

You chuckled lightly, “Yeah, it’s been nonstop lately. I barely have time for myself, let alone for stuff like this—just sitting, having a conversation, and not worrying about what comes next. It’s nice, though.”

He smiled as he took another sip of water, "I bet this venue is a change of pace for you?”

You tilted your head, your eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity, "What do you mean?”

“Well,” he said, setting his glass down, “you’re used to playing for huge crowds, no?”

A knowing smile crossed your face as you caught his meaning, "Ah. Yes, this is a little different, more intimate.” You leaned back in your seat, your expression softening as you reminisced, "I actually started my career playing venues like these. Small venues, little shows here and there. It seems like so long ago—my goodness.”

Rúben could see the nostalgia in your eyes, as if you were momentarily transported back to those early days of your career, "And how does it compare? The small venues versus the massive stadiums?”

You smiled, your eyes lighting up, "There’s no better feeling than the rush from performing, no matter the size of the venue. The energy from a massive crowd is incredible, but there’s something special about a smaller space. You can see everyone’s faces, feel their energy in a more personal way.”

Rúben nodded, understanding the appeal, "I can imagine. Must be surreal to have that kind of connection with your fans.”

“Yeah, it is,” you replied, your voice softening, "It reminds me why I started all of this in the first place. It’s easy to get caught up in the craziness, but those moments… they bring you back.”

Rúben smiled, appreciating how genuine you were, "Sounds like you’ve managed to stay grounded through it all."

You nodded, your expression thoughtful, "I try. But it helps when you have the right people around you."

“How are you liking Manchester? Are you just visiting?” Rúben asked, curious.

“I really like it,” you said, your eyes brightening a bit, "It’s different from what I’m used to—people are friendlier than I expected, and the vibe here is nice. It’s a bit more laid-back than the usual chaos of my life in LA or New York.” You smiled, "And no, I’m actually here for the next year—I’m filming a movie.”

Rúben raised his eyebrows in surprise, "A whole year? That’s exciting. What’s the movie about?”

You chuckled softly, leaning back, "Can’t give too much away just yet, but it’s a drama—something really close to my heart. It’s been intense, but I’m excited to be staying here for a while.”

Rúben grinned, leaning back in his chair, "Seems like we’re both keeping secrets, then.”

Your eyes sparkling with amusement, "I guess we are. Maybe we’ll have to trade secrets at some point.”

Rúben nodded, smirking, “Maybe. But for now, I think it’s more fun to keep the mystery going.”

You raise your glass playfully, "To secrets, then.”

Rúben clinked his glass with yours, "To secrets.”

You tilted your head, looking at him curiously, "How about you? You from around here? Your accent doesn’t sound like you are, but I can’t quite place it."

Rúben smiled, leaning in a little, "Good catch. No, I’m not from here—I’m Portuguese, actually."

Your eyes lit up with recognition, "Ah, that makes sense now! I knew it wasn’t an English accent. Portugal, huh? I loved my time in Lisbon. How long have you been here?"

Rúben shrugged lightly, "A couple of years now. Manchester’s become a bit of a second home, even if it’s very different from where I grew up—just outside of Lisbon, actually."

You nodded, your smile warm and understanding, "I can see why it would. Manchester has its own charm, doesn’t it? Maybe not the same sunshine as Lisbon, but there’s something about it that makes it feel like home after a while."

Rúben glanced around, the familiarity of the city settling over him, "Yeah, it grows on you," he admitted, "Even the rain."

You laughed softly, shaking your head, "I can imagine. I feel like I’ve barely seen the sun since I got here." you took a sip of your drink and leaned in slightly, your tone a little more curious now, "So what brought you here in the first place?"

Rúben hesitated for a moment, the familiar question hanging in the air, but he kept things light, "Work, mostly. I got an opportunity that I couldn’t turn down, so here I am."

You raised an eyebrow playfully, "You’re impossible."

Rúben grinned, enjoying the back-and-forth between the two of you, "I guess I am. It’s more fun this way—for me—at least.”

You let it go and instead say, “It’s funny how different places can feel like home, even when they’re not where you’re originally from."

Rúben glanced at you, sensing the depth in your words, "Exactly. It’s more about the people you’re surrounded by than the place itself, I think."

You smiled, your eyes reflecting that same thought, "You’re right. The people make all the difference." There was a brief pause before you added, “I’ve been lucky to meet some good people here already. Makes the whole being-away-from-home thing a lot easier.”

Rúben nodded, feeling the connection deepen between them, "Sounds like Manchester’s already making a good impression on you."

Your smile softened, "Yeah, it really is. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about staying here for so long, but the city’s kind of growing on me."

Ruben glanced at you, appreciating how genuine you were, "It’s funny how that works. Sometimes you don’t expect a place to feel like home until you really settle in, and suddenly it just clicks."

You took another sip of your drink, your eyes drifting to the crowd of Ricardo’s friends and team before you turned back to him, "So, what do you do when you’re not busy with this mysterious job of yours? Any favorite spots in the city?

Rúben chuckled, feeling the playful tension between you lighten again, "I’m pretty low-key. I like going for runs, exploring the quieter parts of the city when I can. There’s this park I go to, Fletcher Moss—it’s one of my favorite places to clear my head."

Your face lit up with interest, "That sounds nice! I love finding those hidden gems in new cities. Maybe you’ll have to show me around sometime."

Rúben’s heart skipped a beat, but he managed to play it cool, "I’d be happy to. There’s a lot of spots you’d probably like—depends on what you’re into."

You leaned forward slightly, your gaze locking with his, the connection deepening with every word. “I’m into a lot of things. But I’m always up for discovering something new.”

Rúben felt a spark of something more as he grinned, “Well, looks like you’ve got yourself a tour guide then.”

The conversation flowed easily between you, but after a while, Rúben excused himself with a smile. “I’ll be right back, just need to use the toilet.”

You nodded, watching him go with a curious smile. Taking a sip of your drink, you found yourself wondering who exactly Rúben was. Something about his easy charm and the way he’d dodged certain questions intrigued you. He seemed grounded—refreshingly so—but also slightly mysterious.

On his way back, as Rúben navigated through the crowd, someone stopped him. A man in his mid-30s approached, clearly excited but respectful. “Rúben, sorry to bother you, but… could I get your autograph? I’ve been following your career for a while. It would mean a lot.”

Rúben’s voice was quiet but kind as he quickly signed the fan’s hat. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for the support.”

As he looked up, he noticed you watching from your table, amusement and curiosity flickering across your face.

When he returned and sat down, you didn’t hesitate. Leaning in slightly, your eyes twinkled. “Alright, what was that about? You’ve officially lost your mystery card.” You laughed softly. “So, are you going to tell me now, or do I have to Google you?”

Rúben scratched the back of his neck, a bit shy under your playful scrutiny. “Well, looks like I can’t keep that secret anymore.” He smiled sheepishly. “You got me—I play football… or soccer, as you call it in the States.”

Your eyes widened, genuine curiosity in your expression. “Now I’m really curious—who do you play for?”

Rúben chuckled softly, realizing his attempt to keep things low-key had failed. “I play for Manchester City.”

You nodded slowly, taking it in, even though football wasn’t your world. But you didn’t downplay it. “Manchester City, huh? I think I’ve seen billboards of you guys around town… and I might’ve passed by where you play… something with an E, right?” You paused, trying to remember the name.

“Etihad Stadium,” Rúben said, amused by your effort.

“That’s it! I’ve definitely driven past it on my way to set,” you said with a smile. “I’ve seen the billboards, too.”

Despite not following the sport, you didn’t brush off his career, which Rúben appreciated. Your curiosity and respect were clear. “That’s pretty amazing. I know soccer’s huge here.”

Rúben leaned back, feeling more relaxed now that the truth was out. “It’s been a good journey so far.” He grinned. “I was having fun trying to keep you guessing.”

You smiled, your eyes playful. “Well, I’m glad you finally told me..” You teased him lightly. “But now I feel like I owe you an apology for all the games I haven’t been paying attention to since being here for the past month.”

Rúben laughed, the tension easing. “I think I can let that slide.”

There was a pause, and then you tilted your head, a grin tugging at your lips. “So… are you any good?”

He chuckled, downplaying it. “I get by.”

“Just ‘get by’?” You raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying his modesty. Grabbing your phone, you began typing with a smirk. “What’d you say your last name was?”

“I didn’t. It’s Dias—with an S,” he answered, trying not to laugh at your persistence.

A few seconds passed as you scanned the screen, and when you looked up, disbelief flashed in your eyes. “I don’t know what any of these awards mean,” you began, laughing, “but it says here you’re ‘one of the best defenders in the world.’”

Rúben couldn’t help but laugh, though he was visibly embarrassed. “I wouldn’t say all that,” he replied, his modesty endearing.

Reading aloud from your phone, you continued with a playful smirk. “‘Known for his tactical intelligence and physical presence… multiple titles with Manchester City… Defender of the Year.’” You leaned in, teasing him. “You’ve been holding out on me, Rúben.”

He rubbed the back of his neck again, his smile sheepish. “Yeah, well… I didn’t want to come off as full of myself.”

Your smile softened, clearly impressed but maintaining the light tone between you. “I get it. But that’s pretty amazing. You’re out here acting like it’s no big deal, and meanwhile, people are calling you one of the best in the world.” You crossed your arms, grinning. “You just went from mysterious to impressive real quick.”

Rúben laughed, feeling comfortable again. “Thanks, but honestly, I’m just trying to keep things normal. It’s all part of the job.”

You nodded, still smiling. “Well, you’re doing a good job of keeping it normal. But now I’m definitely curious about what it’s like being, you know… one of the best defenders in the world.”

Rúben smiled, leaning back a bit. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. A lot of hard work, a lot of discipline.”

“I can imagine,” you said, your voice softer now, genuinely intrigued. “But playing in front of all those fans… hearing them chant your name… that’s got to feel surreal.”

“It is,” Rúben admitted, his tone thoughtful. “The energy is something else. You don’t hear individual voices—it’s like this wall of sound that hits you. But at the end of the day, it’s about the game… being part of something bigger.”

You smiled at that, clearly drawing a parallel. “It’s like performing on stage, then. You connect with the crowd, but you also lose yourself in the moment.”

Rúben nodded, appreciating the comparison. “Exactly. It’s all about focus. When you’re in that flow, everything else just fades.”

“You make it sound almost meditative,” you said with a smile, your voice thoughtful.

“It kind of is,” Rúben replied, then paused. “But then there’s the other side. The pressure, the expectations… everyone’s got an opinion, and it’s hard to shake that sometimes.”

You understood that feeling all too well. “I get that. The spotlight can make people forget there’s a real person behind it all.”

Rúben nodded, grateful for your understanding. “Exactly. It’s like you’re always ‘on,’ even when you’re not on the pitch.”

“It sounds like we have more in common than I thought,” you said with a smile. “But I’d love to see you play sometime. Maybe now I’ll actually pay attention.”

Rúben grinned. “Well, if you ever come to a match, I’ll try not to disappoint.”

“I have a feeling you won’t,” you teased. “I’ll definitely check out a game now. You know… for research,” you winked.

Rúben chuckled, his voice softening as he replied, “I’d be happy to have you there.”

You sat for a moment, the conversation flowing naturally as you both seemed to relax more into each other’s company. Rúben glanced around, noticing how the crowd at the after-party had thinned out a bit. The buzz of the room had calmed, leaving the both of you in your own little corner, comfortably isolated from the rest of the event.

“So,” you started, your tone becoming a little more curious, “how do you handle it? The pressure? Does it ever get to you?”

Rúben thought for a moment, taking in the question, “It’s tough sometimes,” he admitted, his voice a little quieter, "I try not to let it get to me, but it’s always there—people’s expectations, the media, the fans. You want to do your best, but there are days when it can be a little overwhelming.”

“I get that. It’s kind of the same in my world. You start out just wanting to do what you love, and then suddenly, everyone’s watching, waiting for you to either succeed or fail.” You paused for a moment, your gaze softening, “But I guess you learn to find your balance.”

Rúben smiled, appreciating how easily you understood the weight of it, "Yeah, that’s the key—finding balance. Making sure you have a life outside of it all. I try to keep things as normal as possible, spend time with friends and family, stay grounded.”

A glimmer of admiration flashed in your eyes, “That’s a good way to look at it. It’s hard to remember sometimes, but you can’t let the spotlight define you.”

“Exactly,” Rúben said, nodding, "It’s important to have something outside of football, something that reminds you who you really are. For me, it’s family and friends. What about you? How do you stay grounded?”

Your gaze drifted, deep in thought, “I think it’s the same for me,” you say quietly, "Family, close friends. The people who knew me before all of this happened. They remind me of where I came from and what’s important.” You looked back at him, your smile returning, "And, of course, taking time to do normal things—like having random conversations at after-parties with guys who pretend not to be famous.”

Rúben laughed, "Yeah, well, you’ve got me figured out now.”

“Maybe,” you say, teasingly, your eyes twinkling again, “But I’m still learning.”

Rúben grinned, enjoying the ease of their conversation, "It’s good I’ve still got some mystery left, then.”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow, "It’s also a good thing I’m catching on quickly.” You took another sip of your drink, then set the glass down, leaning in slightly, "It’s funny, isn’t it? No matter how big life gets, we’re all just trying to stay connected to the simple things.”

Rúben nodded, his eyes softening as he spoke, "Exactly. All the attention—it’s great in some ways, but it’s the little moments, the real ones, that matter the most.”

Your smile grew a little more thoughtful, your gaze meeting his, “I think that’s why tonight’s been nice. It’s not about the big scene or the crowds—it’s just… talking.”

Rúben felt a warmth spread through him at your words. There was something about this connection, the easy back-and-forth, that made him forget about everything else.

You felt the same. For the first time in a long time, you weren't the celebrity in the room. You were just Y/N, having a conversation with someone who seemed to genuinely understand you.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice soft but sincere, "It’s been really nice.”

For a moment, the space between you seemed to shrink, the rest of the room fading into the background. There was an unspoken understanding passing between you, something that felt deeper than just casual conversation.

“You’re different from what I expected, you know,” you said, your tone playful but with a hint of something more, "Not that I had much to go on, but still.”

Rúben chuckled, feeling a bit of heat rise to his cheeks, "Different, huh? I’m hoping that’s a good thing.”

You laughed softly, your eyes sparkling, “It is. Definitely a good thing.”

He smiled, feeling a quiet sense of contentment settle over him, "You know, you’re different too. In a good way,” he added, his tone light but genuine.

“Oh yeah? How so?” You asked, tilting your head slightly.

Rúben thought for a moment, then shrugged with a smile, “I guess I expected you to be… I don’t know, larger than life, I suppose. But you’re real. Easy to talk to, grounded. It’s refreshing.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, “That means a lot.”

Rúben’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, you felt something shift. You had gotten used to people seeing you as an image, a brand, something beyond just a person. Fans and the media only ever saw the version of you on magazine covers, in interviews, or on stage. Larger than life, as Rúben had said. They admired the success, the fame, the polished perfection of it all. But it wasn’t often that someone saw past that, to the reality of who you were.

And yet, here was Rúben, someone who didn’t know you well—at least, not personally—and still, he was trying to see you. The real you. He hadn’t met the version of you that the world idolized, but the one sitting in front of him, sharing casual conversation and laughter. He didn’t treat you like the star everyone else seemed to see, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you weren’t under a microscope.

It was strange, almost liberating, to be with someone who didn’t make your fame the centerpiece of the interaction. He wasn’t in awe of your celebrity or caught up in the glitz of it all. Instead, he seemed intrigued by the person behind all of that. And that, more than anything, made you feel a sense of relief—a small but significant reminder that you were more than just a name or a face in the public eye.

Rúben, too, found himself reflecting on the fact that despite knowing you through your fame, sitting here with you felt remarkably natural. It was like the layers of who you were—superstar, singer, performer—had been peeled back, revealing someone far more real, far more grounded than he had expected.

The air between you felt charged, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was like you’d found a rhythm, an understanding that transcended the usual boundaries of your worlds. It was simple, easy, and real.

“I guess we’re both surprising each other tonight,” you said with a playful smile, your voice breaking the silence but keeping the warmth alive.

Rúben smiled, feeling more relaxed than he had all night, “I think that’s a good thing.”

You leaned in, your smile teasing, "So, you’re a fan of Frank and 6lack. Any chance you’re a fan of mine?”

Rúben smiled back, enjoying the playful energy between you, "Yeah, I might’ve seen a few of your music videos.”

That caught you by surprise, especially since your music was so different from the styles of Frank and 6lack. You raised an eyebrow, deciding to play along, "Posters on your wall too?”

He chuckled, shaking his head, "No, but my little cousins definitely had a few. I might’ve appreciated your beauty back then, though. Might have even said you were my celebrity crush when people asked.”

Now that really threw you off. You blinked, a teasing smile slowly forming on your lips, "Really?” you asked, though his words stuck with you, a little more genuine than you expected. He said it so casually, so sincerely. It wasn’t the usual exaggerated fan confession you’d grown used to—this felt different. More real.

As you sat there, you couldn’t help but take him in, noticing not just how calm and grounded he seemed, but how effortlessly handsome he was. Rúben had a quiet magnetism about him. His sharp features—the strong jawline, the slightly tousled dark hair, the way his eyes seemed to hold yours without wavering—made him striking in a way that was hard to ignore. His easy smile softened his intensity, giving him a boyish charm that contrasted with the strength in his build.

He had an athletic frame, broad shoulders that were dead giveaways of his profession, which you probably should have guessed, but there was something about the way he carried himself—relaxed, confident, yet without arrogance—that made him even more attractive. He wasn’t just handsome in the way people usually described. There was a depth to his presence, an authenticity that you hadn’t expected.

You’d realized it the moment you were introduced, but sitting here now, the conversation flowing so naturally, you found yourself noticing even more—how his eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled, how his laugh felt genuine, and how his warmth seemed to come effortlessly. In a world where everything in your life was curated and controlled, Rúben felt like the opposite—completely natural, unaffected by the whirlwind that usually surrounded you.

It wasn’t just his looks that drew you in, though those were undeniable. It was the way he listened, the way he engaged with you, not as the public figure everyone else saw but as someone real. That sincerity made him even more attractive, and you couldn’t help but feel a little flustered by how much he was affecting you.

So, you decided to tease him.

A playful spark lit in your eyes, “Ah, so you don’t appreciate my beauty now?”

For a moment, Rúben froze, completely caught off guard. Oh my God, is she flirting with me? He stammered, “No, I mean yes.”

Your soft giggle only made his flustered state worse, and you leaned in slightly, clearly enjoying his reaction, "Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

Rúben cleared his throat, attempting to regain some composure, "Me? Nervous? Psh, never,” he said, flashing a grin that was a little too playful, though the slight blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

You laughed again, the sound light and genuine, "Sure, whatever you say,” you teased, your eyes twinkling as the tension between you two grew playfully charged.

Rúben shook his head, trying to steady himself, "Okay, maybe a little nervous,” he admitted, still smiling, "But I wasn’t expecting you to just—well, you know—say that.”

Leaning back with a satisfied grin, you crossed your arms, "I like keeping people on their toes. Besides, aren’t you athletes supposed to be cool under pressure?”

Rúben smirked, feeling the energy shift, "On the pitch, yeah. Off the pitch? It’s a little different when you’re sitting next to your teenage celebrity crush.”

Your smile softened, and your eyes sparkled with curiosity and amusement, "Oh, so now I’m just the teenage celebrity crush?”

He laughed, running a hand through his hair, feeling bolder now, "Nah, you’ve held that title pretty well. I just didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to say it to you in person.”

You raised an eyebrow, a sly smile on your lips, "Are you saying I’m still your celebrity crush?”

Your question hit him harder than expected, and for a moment, Rúben felt that familiar nervousness creeping back in. He tried to find the right words without sounding completely flustered, but the teasing glint in your eyes only made him more nervous.

“Well,” he began, a little sheepishly, “Um, yeah, maybe.”

Your smile widened, clearly enjoying the moment, "Maybe?” you echoed, your tone playful, "You might need to be a little more sure about that, Rúben.”

He laughed, shaking his head, "Okay, fine. Yes,” he admitted, finally giving in, "You’re still my celebrity crush.”

Your laughter rang out softly, and you leaned back in your chair, clearly satisfied, "Good to know," you teased, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze, "I’ve got to say, that’s pretty flattering."

Rúben felt the tension ease again, the conversation flowing naturally, "Well, you’ve earned it," he said with a grin, "It’s not just anyone who can hold onto that title for so long."

You smiled shyly, butterflies erupting in your stomach, "Thanks."

Rúben laughed, leaning back a little, a blush still on his cheeks “You’re welcome.”

You gave him a playful look, raising your glass slightly as if to toast, “No, seriously—‘Rúben Dias’s celebrity crush’ completely trumps ‘Grammy Award-winning artist.’ I should update my bio immediately.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, “Oh, yeah, because that’s what people are really interested in.”

You grinned, your eyes twinkling with amusement., “Obviously! Forget the Grammys—this is the real achievement,” you teased, leaning in a bit closer, “I should make a speech.”

Rúben shook his head, laughing softly, "I’d love to hear that one.”

You leaned in, your smile soft but teasing, “Alright, I’m done teasing you about this… for now. Also, for what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty cute.”

Rúben blinked, clearly stunned by the compliment. He ran a hand over his face, laughing under his breath, “Oh God, this is not my life. I think I’m going to wake up any moment now.”

You laughed, watching as the cool, confident man you’d first met seemed to disappear, replaced by someone more flustered, more genuine. It was endearing, seeing him like this—unprepared, caught off guard. You couldn’t help but smile, watching the way he fumbled with his thoughts, clearly trying to process everything. There was something incredibly charming about seeing this side of him—the one that wasn’t perfectly composed or poised like he probably was on the field.

“You’re seriously doubting this is real?” you tease, still grinning, "What, you don’t usually get compliments? I’m sure your DMs are full.”

Rúben shook his head, a playful look in his eyes now, "I mean, maybe, but that doesn’t mean I’m not caught off guard by compliments from someone like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, "Someone like me? Elaborate.”

He shrugged, his grin widening a bit, "You know… a global superstar, my celebrity crush, and apparently someone who thinks I’m cute.”

You laughed again, feeling the playful tension between you both rising, "Well, get used to it,” you replied with a wink, "You’re in my orbit now.”

Rúben shook his head again, still smiling but his voice softened slightly, "You have no idea how surreal this feels.”

You feel warmth spread through you again, but this time it wasn’t from the teasing or the banter. There was sincerity in his voice that caught you off guard, "Well,” you said softly, “I’m glad you’re here.”

For a moment, the teasing disappeared, replaced by something more real, something that made the connection between you both feel deeper. The air between you felt a little heavier, but in the best way, like you were both beginning to see each other clearly for the first time. You both sat in the comfortable silence that followed, the shared understanding between you deepening. Rúben could feel the connection growing, something more than just casual conversation or playful teasing.

“I’ve got to say,” you finally said, breaking the silence with a smile, “I’m glad Ricardo left us alone to talk. It’s been… fun.”

Rúben smiled back, feeling the same way, "Yeah, it has.”

He leaned back in his chair, letting the comfortable silence settle between you for another moment. He couldn’t help but feel how unexpectedly natural this all felt—talking to you, connecting over things beyond the surface. He hadn’t expected to feel so at ease with you, but there it was, undeniable.

“I guess we have to thank Ricardo for that,” he said with a small grin, "He knew what he was doing.”

You laughed softly, nodding, “Yeah, he’s sneaky like that. But in a good way.” You glanced around the room, "It’s kind of funny. I wasn’t even planning on staying this long, but…” You trailed off, your eyes meeting his again, "I’m glad I did.”

Rúben’s heart gave a slight jump at the way you said it, the openness in your voice, "Yeah, me too,” he said, his tone sincere.

Leaning in just a bit closer, your gaze lingering on his, you began, your voice quiet but playful “You know, I’ve spent all night figuring you out, but I still feel like there’s more to uncover.”

Rúben chuckled, feeling the subtle shift in the air between you, "I’m not that mysterious,” he said with a grin, though he knew you weren’t entirely wrong.

You smiled, tilting your head slightly, “Maybe not, but there’s definitely more to you than meets the eye.” you paused, then added with a teasing glint in your eyes, “And I don’t mean just on the field.”

Rúben laughed, shaking his head, "I’m starting to think you’re the one with all the layers.”

“You’re definitely right about that,” you said, your voice soft now, "I do have a few layers left myself.”

In this moment, as your eyes met his, you felt a familiar tug in your chest—a reminder of the walls you’d built over the years, the barriers fame had forced you to put in place. The persona the world saw, the carefully crafted version of you, had become second nature. It was protection, keeping people at a distance, even when they thought they were close. But here, sitting across from Rúben, with his easy smile and genuine warmth, you could feel those walls wavering, just a little.

It had always been easier to let people see what they wanted to see—the superstar, the performer. Not many had the patience or desire to dig deeper, to find the layers you’d hidden beneath the surface. And for the longest time, you were okay with that. Fame came with its own set of rules, its own boundaries, and you followed them.

But now, as Rúben leaned in slightly, his eyes filled with curiosity and something more, you wondered if maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let someone in. Even just a little. He didn’t seem intimidated by the version of you that everyone else saw. Instead, he was looking for something beyond it, and the way he said, "I think I’m up for the challenge," made you feel like maybe—just maybe—he could be.

Your smile softened as you met his gaze, feeling that unspoken connection settle between you. “I guess we’ll see,” you said quietly, the words holding more weight than just a playful response. Because a part of you wondered if you were ready to let someone like Rúben peel back those layers you’d kept hidden for so long.

Just as the moment between you deepened, your bodyguard, Eric, reappeared at your side. His presence was calm but firm, and he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only you could hear, "Hey, sorry to interrupt, but we should probably head out soon. There’s a lot of paps waiting outside.”

You sighed softly, the weight of your public life settling in again. You glanced up at Eric, then back at Rúben with a small, apologetic smile, "I guess that’s my cue.”

Rúben nodded, understanding, "Yeah, I figured you’d have a bit of a crowd waiting for you.”

You stood up slowly, adjusting your jacket, "I knew it was too good to last,” you said lightly, though there was a hint of reluctance in your voice, "It was nice having a little break from all that, though.”

Rúben stood up too, his smile warm, "I get it. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.” He hesitated for a moment, not wanting the night to end just yet, "But I’ve really enjoyed tonight. I’m glad Ricardo pulled me over.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at him, "Me too.”

You smiled, and for a brief moment, it felt like there was something unspoken between you, a mutual understanding that this night hadn’t just been a random conversation—it had been the start of something more.

As Eric gave you a gentle nudge toward the exit, you looked back at Rúben one last time, "Goodnight, Rúben.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied, his voice soft but genuine.

And with that, you turned to leave, your bodyguards following. Rúben stood there for a moment, watching you go, a quiet smile lingering on his face. The night had been unexpected, but as he watched you go, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something… something real. So, with a sudden rush of boldness surge through him, he decided to act on it. This wasn’t something that happened every day—his celebrity crush not only talking to him but connecting with him on a real level. Before he could overthink it, he called out, “Y/N!”

You stopped mid-step, turning slightly in his direction, your eyes meeting his with a curious look. The noise of the music and conversations, the bustle of the crew, and the buzz of the venue seemed to melt away as you focused on him. The way you tilted your head, your brows lifting slightly in question—it caught him completely off guard.

He didn’t know where this sudden burst of courage came from, but he wasn’t about to back down now. Rúben cleared his throat, taking a step toward you, the words forming before he could second-guess himself.

“Would you like to get dinner sometime?” His voice, though steady, held a slight edge of nervousness, like he was teetering between confidence and uncertainty.

For a split second, surprise flickered across your face. It wasn’t the kind of question you’d been expecting tonight, that much was clear. You blinked, your lips parting as if you weren’t sure what to say. But then, something shifted in your expression, a warmth replacing the initial shock, and you smiled—a real, genuine smile that softened your entire face.

“Dinner?” you asked, the word rolling off your tongue with a hint of amusement. You took a step closer to him, your gaze steady and playful as if considering his offer with more weight than you were letting on. “Are you asking me out on a date, Rúben?”

His heart thudded in his chest, but he managed to keep his voice calm as he replied, “Yeah, I am.”

You paused for a moment, glancing at your bodyguard Eric, who stood a few steps behind you, clearly waiting for a signal. You then looked back at Rúben, your eyes sparkling with a teasing edge. “You know what?” you said, taking another step closer, “I think I’d like that.”

Rúben’s heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed, your voice softer now, more sincere than playful. “Let’s make it happen.”

As you turned to follow Eric, you threw one last glance over your shoulder, your voice light and teasing. “I’ll have my people reach out to yours.”

Rúben couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye out for that,” he said, grinning.

You waved a final goodbye, your bodyguard stepping in to guide you through the thinning crowd. Rúben stood there for a moment, watching you disappear into the backstage area, his pulse still racing, his mind still replaying everything that had just happened.

He had actually done it. He had asked you out, and you had said yes. It felt crazy, like something out of a dream.

Before he could process any further, a familiar voice pulled him back to reality. “Yo,” Ricardo called out with a grin, striding over to him. “Looks like you two were hitting it off.”

Rúben chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, something like that.”

Ricardo smirked, clearly catching on. “You asked her out, didn’t you?”

Rúben shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I might have.”

Ricardo let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, man. You’ve got balls. Good for you. I told you she was good people.”

Rúben nodded, still in a bit of a daze. “Yeah, she is.”

Ricardo clapped him on the shoulder, his grin widening. “Well, I guess you’re in now. She’s a lot of fun. Just keep it real with her.”

“I will,” Rúben said, his voice more serious now.

Ricardo gave him a final nod, clearly pleased with how the night had unfolded. “Good luck, man. I’m rooting for you.”

Rúben smiled, feeling a mix of excitement and disbelief wash over him. As Ricardo headed back to join the rest of his crew, Rúben couldn’t help but glance toward the backstage area one last time, his thoughts still on you and the unexpected connection you’d shared tonight.

The night had started as something ordinary—a concert, a chance to unwind—but it had turned into something far more significant. He had no idea what would happen next, but for now, he was content with the knowledge that you’d said yes.

The cool night air greeted him as he stepped out of the venue, the sounds of the city humming softly in the background. Rúben walked toward his car, his mind still buzzing with the events of the evening, the thought of seeing you again lingering in the back of his mind.

The drive home was quiet, the streets mostly empty as the city began to settle into the late hours. Rúben’s mind was still replaying the night, the conversation with you, the way you had smiled at him, the promise of seeing you again. He was lost in thought, but it was the kind of thought that made him feel light, almost weightless.

There was something about your beauty—effortless, captivating—that he couldn’t shake. It wasn’t just in the way you looked, but the way you made everything around you seem more alive. Meeting you had stirred something in him, and he knew this was only the beginning.

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rubendias The unexpected connection. Long time listener… special to finally hear it in person! Good to see you bro @.6lack ✊🏼

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6lack family 🙏🏾 🔒

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well, chapter one is all yours! i hope you enjoyed it ◡̈

chapter two should be out soon 🤍

my ask box is always open! (another reminder: i am from California (PDT), so i’m 8 hours behind England so please forgive me if i answer really late 😩

-mars

[axie-lot]

Sparrow

Characters: Boothill

Warning: Male characters,Spoiler,mention of death,child death.

Very well, this fic will be split into two parts. Part 2 won’t take too long to post. Well, this fic was a request, but this part will serve as more of a "Prologue" for the idea behind the request.

Theme: angst

This work was originally written by me in Portuguese, and I translated it using Google Translator, so I apologize for any translation errors

Summary:Well, a life on the farm, a happy life, until the lands of his planet were invaded by those dogs, bringing hell with them.

[Masterlist]

Boothill remembers very well how he met [name]... Even though so much time has passed, even with his body entirely altered, he still remembers him. How could he forget? Oh, that boy who was as clever as a raven, But at the same time as gentle as a small sparrow. He remembers that meeting as if it were yesterday. It happened during his childhood, And one thing he knows for sure—that meeting Was an unusual one.

Well, young Boothill had just finished his breakfast with his siblings, and Nick had asked him to get the hay from the barn to feed the animals. That was part of his routine back then, so he thought everything would go as it always did. He went about his usual tasks, helped Nick clean up the kitchen after breakfast, and fed the dogs before heading to the barn. But as he was on his way to the barn, something unexpected happened. He heard a desperate scream coming from the road. Curious, he turned to look at the dirt road and noticed something unusual, Something very unusual... He saw a boy, about his own age, running. The boy looked desperate—and rightly so—because right behind him was a large group of geese chasing after him. Boothill was stunned by the sight, having never seen so many geese in one place before.

“What the hell,” was all the white-haired boy could think as he watched this bizarre scene unfold before his eyes.

He stood there, frozen, not knowing how to react. For a moment, he simply watched, but then he noticed something—a small detail. The geese were getting closer. Much closer.

Realizing this, the white-haired boy started running too, before the furious geese could reach him. He looked around for somewhere to take cover and spotted the barn. Without hesitation, he ran towards it, the only place that could offer safety.

He managed to reach the barn entrance, and only then did he glance back to assess the situation. To his surprise, the boy who had initially been chased by the geese had also made it to the barn. Boothill was shocked at how fast the boy had caught up with him, despite the considerable distance between them. But there was no time to dwell on that—the geese were closing in.

The two boys scrambled to shut the large barn doors just in time, before the terrifying geese could get in. They stared at each other for a moment, unable to process what had just happened. Finally, they both spoke at the same time: “Holy shit...”

After that chaotic situation, the two began to talk. And over time, Boothill started seeing the boy more frequently around the farm.

At first, [name] was hesitant to open up to Boothill, always staying on the defensive. But little by little, [name] began to let his guard down. Boothill got to know more about [name]’s personality and discovered that beneath that wary, bird-like demeanor was someone as gentle as a little sparrow.

[Name] would come by every day to visit Boothill, help with the farm chores, and then spend hours chatting and having fun once the work was done.

“Come on, Boothill! If we finish quickly, we can go swim in the river,” said the boy as he dashed past Boothill, who was carrying a bundle of hay.

“Sparrow, it’s just a chicken. She’s probably more scared of you than you are of her,” teased the gray-eyed boy, holding back laughter as he watched his friend being cornered by a small chicken.

[Name] always seemed to show up at the farm out of nowhere, and sometimes he arrived with bruises on his body. Boothill would always worry about his friend when this happened. That’s when he realized he knew almost nothing about [name]’s life.

He tried asking about [name]’s family and where he came from, but [name] always changed the subject. Over time, Boothill stopped asking.

As the two grew closer, they were almost inseparable. Boothill even introduced [name] to Graey, Nick, and his other siblings. He was so happy they liked [name].

Graey and Nick quickly grew fond of little [name] too. They could see through [name]’s lies about his family and noticed the pain he was trying to hide.

And so, the truth came to light: [name] was a street boy. That explained everything—why [name] always avoided talking about where he came from, how he could come and go as he pleased, and the bruises that always seemed to appear on his body.

In the end, they welcomed [name] to live with them. At first, [name] was reluctant, not wanting to be another burden for the men to take care of, but after much insistence, he finally agreed.

Well, if they were close before, now they were inseparable. Living in the same house, it was rare for them not to be together or at least within each other’s line of sight. One was always following the other

Whether it was to tend to the sheep, Check on the cows, Or even ride horses.

Speaking of horseback riding, it was Boothill who taught [name] how to ride. That day was hilarious because [name] was terrified of losing control of the horse and falling off. But by the end of the day, everything went well, thanks to Boothill, who stayed by his side to help with any problems that might arise.

Even though [name] now lived with them, he still held onto some habits from his time living on the streets. He remained a wary bird when strangers visited the farm, and every time that happened, Boothill had to calm him down.

The two of them often went out at night to hunt small game, staying out all night and only returning to the farm in the morning. These were some of the moments when they bonded the most and opened up to each other, as it was just the two of them, their weapons, and the forest throughout the night.

However, the most precious moments for Boothill were when he picked up a guitar and played for everyone, while [name] accompanied him, singing like a beautiful bird.

Oh, those sweet moments… Moments that now belong to the past.

And so it went on for a long time. But time passed, and those children began to grow into young adults.

Oh, Boothill remembers how much [name] had changed as he matured. That young boy with the soul of a skittish bird had grown into a handsome young man. He had let his hair grow long, always tying it in a low side ponytail adorned with a small braid that Boothill himself would often weave into his hair.

And his personality had changed a little. Once a wary and distrustful wild bird, [name] had become a gentle and kind sparrow, though his classic skittishness would occasionally resurface.

Some things had changed during this time. Now, he rarely saw his brothers, but he knew they were doing well. It was also during this period that the most emotional day of his life occurred— The day he proposed to [name]. It wasn’t the most elaborate proposal, but for him, it was deeply moving.

The proposal took place as they were heading home after a tiring day. The sun was already setting, casting its orange glow across the sky. Boothill had the idea for the two of them to stop for a moment to talk beneath a large tree on the farm. He wanted to surprise his little sparrow, even just a little.

He began to talk about their life together, from the time they were children to the present moment. He reminisced about how they met and how they had never left each other’s side. It was at the end of that heartfelt conversation that he made his proposal.

“My sparrow, you know better than anyone that I’m not very good with words. But I want you to know that all the moments we’ve shared together, the countless fun times we’ve had, have been incredibly special to me. You, my sparrow, are incredibly special to me. So now, I’ve decided to take a step forward in our relationship. And so, I ask you—will you marry me?”

He remembers [name]’s tear-filled eyes as he spoke. And as soon as he finished, [name] threw himself into Boothill’s arms, hugging him tightly and saying “I accept” over and over again.

A few weeks later, they got married. It was a simple wedding with just close family members present. It was the happiest moment of Boothill’s life.

He cried—one of the few times he ever did—as he watched [name] dressed in a simple suit. He was moved seeing Nick and Graey, also emotional, watching their adoptive son get married. It was such a beautiful moment.

After the wedding, they began their married life together in a small, simple house near Graey and Nick’s home.

Now both grown men, they lived together, starting their little farm.

Their life was perfect.

The two lived in complete harmony. They worked together, managing the household chores and farm tasks. [Name] even got a job to help with the farm expenses.

For a time, it was just the two of them on that small farm. They adapted well to that life, but both felt something was missing—something to make their family truly complete.

And so, she appeared… Their sweet and dear little girl.

On a silent night—a rare occurrence, as the sounds of rustling leaves or distant animals from the forest were usually ever-present—Boothill sat on the porch, staring into the vast darkness ahead. He had lost sleep and, not wanting to wake [name], who was sleeping soundly, stepped outside to see if the fresh air might bring his restlessness to an end. Lost in his thoughts, he suddenly heard the sound of loud, piercing cries echoing through the stillness of the night.

Following the cries, he discovered a small baby, wailing and inconsolable. Boothill didn’t know what to do at first, but eventually, he picked her up just as Graey had done for him many years ago and brought her home.

When he returned, he found [name] awake and slightly groggy, likely roused by the baby’s cries. Boothill remembers the look on [name]’s face when he showed him the baby—pure joy. The idea of becoming a parent made [name] so happy, he couldn’t stop talking about how excited he was to take on the role.

From that moment on, the two of them became parents. The void they had both felt was filled by that little girl.

Oh, how attached they became to her.

The next morning, they visited Graey and Nick to introduce them to the newest addition to their family. The two were overjoyed at the thought of becoming grandparents.

As days passed, the baby grew a little older. She began to take her first steps and babble her first words. Though, to her parents’ dismay, one of her first clear words turned out to be a small swear word—something she must have overheard from one of them, simply repeating the sound without knowing its meaning.

Boothill found immense joy in watching [name] hold the little girl and show her the animals on the farm.

Every evening, they had a routine. The two would tuck the little girl into bed, with [name] telling her a story while Boothill played a soft melody on his guitar in the background. Boothill even crafted a small guitar for her, something she could play when she grew older.

Oh, those sweet, precious moments…

But all good things must come to an end.

And it was on that fateful day that hell began.

Boothill wasn’t home when it started. He saw the enormous excavators appear on the horizon of the plains, paying no heed to the protests and despair of the local residents. Black ore began to gush from beneath the earth. Armed guards attacked the locals, forcing them from their homes, insulting their dignity, and disregarding their lives.

Though he managed to infiltrate one of the ships of those invaders, Boothill soon realized that his family needed him. He had to make sure they were safe—he had to protect them.

Cannon fire rained from the skies. When he finally stumbled back to the farm, he found it reduced to ashes. The elderly Graey and Nick, along with all the friends and siblings he grew up with, had already lost their lives. Their lifeless bodies lay scattered across what used to be the farm he called home.

Clinging to a sliver of hope, he rushed to their small house, praying he would find the figures he cherished so deeply alive. But to his horror, the house had been destroyed entirely. With tears streaming down his face, he began searching through the rubble.

What he found broke him completely: the lifeless body of the little girl he had raised as his daughter.

A cruel world, to take the life of a child—a child who had just started walking, a child who would never grow up.

Boothill held her small body close and cried like he never had before.

But then, a thought pierced through his grief: where was [name]? Where was his husband?

Desperate, he searched for [name], combing through the ruins of their home and the surrounding area. [Name] had been staying home that day to care for their daughter. Boothill should have found him there. Yet, no matter how thoroughly he searched, he never found [name]’s body.

What happened to [name] remains a mystery.

All Boothill could feel now was a deep longing for the past.

He missed the times when he could still see the people he loved.

He longed for the days when he still had his daughter and [name] by his side.

In a single day, he lost everything. And it was all the fault of the IPC’s dogs.

Boothill swore vengeance on those who had taken everything he loved from him.

Much time has passed since that fateful day. Over the years, everything changed. Boothill was no longer the same man. His body had been completely modified with mechanical parts, turning him into a cyborg.

Now, he had joined an organization—he was a Galaxy Ranger.

But that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. He had become a wanted man, with a bounty on his head.

That was the price he paid to pursue his ultimate goal: revenge.

Now, this was his life—a cyborg with nothing left to lose because everything he had loved had been turned to ashes.

He was now a cybernetic cowboy wandering among the stars, a member of the Galaxy Rangers who had vowed to punish the wretched by any means necessary. That was all he was.

His purpose was simple: to draw the attention of the IPC. He attacked their ships, slaughtered their lackeys, and spread chaos to lure them out. All to fulfill his ultimate goal—revenge.

Yet, no matter how much his life had changed, a lingering pain remained in his chest. A deep ache for his past. The guilt of failing to save his daughter, of not being able to protect Graey and Nick, and the unbearable sorrow of not knowing what had truly happened to his husband.

Speaking of [name], the question haunted him endlessly: what had happened to [name]’s body? Despite searching relentlessly, he had never found it, leaving him to agonize over its fate.

But after a long time, Boothill finally found the answer to that question.

One day, after destroying yet another IPC ship, the cyborg decided to take a break at a random bar on some distant corner of the galaxy. He wanted to drink and clear his head. Choosing an isolated corner to avoid drawing too much attention, he ordered his long-awaited drink and leaned back.

As he waited, he scanned the bar’s surroundings. It was a dingy, run-down place, but it had its charm. The room was filled with customers, most of whom seemed engrossed in the bar’s center. This gave Boothill some relief—he could enjoy his peace without interruption.

But then, something caught his eye.

On one of the bar’s walls, there was a board filled with wanted posters. He spotted a few familiar names, like the Stellaron Hunters. His gaze trailed across the posters, pausing momentarily on some of the members, until it stopped abruptly on one specific face.

A face that made his circuits freeze.

"WANTED: Stellaron Hunter [name]—Reward: 6.13 billion credits."

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

It was unmistakably [name] in the photo. Though their appearance had changed somewhat with time, Boothill recognized them instantly. He could never mistake the love of his life, no matter how much they had changed. What kind of husband would he be if he couldn’t recognize his beloved pardal?

And now, Boothill had a new purpose in his wretched life.

In addition to destroying the IPC, he would find his pardal.

He would bring the love of his life back to his side once more. to be continued.....

[yvanspijk]

Fasting and breakfasting in Romance

Spanish desayunar, Portuguese desjejuar, and French déjeûner (outside France) mean 'to breakfast'. Their original meaning is 'to break the fast' - just like the English word breakfast. They come from des- ('dis-') plus a verb stemming from Latin jejūnāre (to fast).

A chainshift in France

French déjeûner is an interesting case. It comes from Old French desjeüner. In the meaning of 'to breakfast', this combination of des- and jeüner had been formed to replace disner, because that verb used to mean 'to breakfast' but its meaning had shifted to 'to eat the main meal of the day'.

Disner (now dîner) itself stemmed from Proto-Romance *disjūnāre, a verb meaning 'to break the fast'. In other words: a new Old French word (desjeüner) came to the rescue, replacing an older word (disner) whose meaning had drifted away but which had a similar etymology.

Nowadays, déjeûner means 'to breakfast' in most varieties of French except in France, where its meaning evolved to 'to lunch', so there it has moved one step further in time. In turn, dîner means 'to lunch', but in France it came to mean 'to eat dinner'. There, souper, the word for 'dinner' in most other varieties, made way and came to denote a light evening meal eaten after dinner. Now that's a chainshift!