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“—and then, Guiu and I will score a hattrick each, and maybe Pau will get a charity header to really put the nail in the coffin,” Lamine said, gesturing with his hands as he lounged on his bed. They were all piled in his room, a last hurrah before he and Cubarsi went off to join the senior Selection and prepare for the Euros. They barely fit, but it felt good, it felt like they were kids again. Cubarsi yanked at Lamine’s fitted sheet from where he was sitting on his packed suitcase, faux-offended.“Can you imagine the embarrassment?” Lamine continued cackling. “The great Real Madrid defeated so badly even Pau Cubarsi is dunking goals on them. I don’t think you’ve ever scored in your life—”“I’ll show you scoring—”They were straight-up hitting each other now.“You’re forgetting me,” Hector cut in, shoving the playfight apart.“That’s cuz you’re irrelevant.”Hector exhaled through his nose. “I should be the one scoring the hat trick instead of that guy.” He motioned to Marc, who despite being quiet had a playful smile on his face, with his hand.“Last I checked you aren’t a striker.”“Last I checked you’re wannabe Neymar only capable of one type of shot, but you put yourself down for a hattrick anyway. I call that biased.”“I call that realistic. You on the other hand…” Lamine shook his head like he was sad just thinking about it.“Gassed up on lucky crosses.” Hector turned to Marc. “Tell him he’s an idiot.”“You’re an idiot,” Marc said. Hector pretended the flush of satisfaction it sent through him was due to someone agreeing with him and not how easily Marc did what he wanted.
Relax on the gay shit, Fort.
He blinked. “See? The audience agrees.”“The audience is paid actors.”“If only he paid me,” said Marc, long and suffering. Now Hector was offended.It was past midnight when they all decided to return to their rooms.“Lamine and Pau are flying high, huh?” said Marc as they walked the academy’s dark halls. There was something in his tone Hector didn’t like but the small sound of his voice in the quiet was intoxicating, so he took a moment to relish it.
Relax on the gay shit, Fort.
He swallowed.“Well, they’re en route to the Euros. Pretty much impossible not to.”Marc’s footsteps slowed. Hector matched his pace. “You really think all of us will make it here?” he asked.“What sort of question is that?”Marc seemed a little guilty, but he doubled down. “I mean, how many of the talents that come out of La Masia every year end up staying here long term? What are the chances four guys from the same generation all succeed in the same way?”“Are you sure you’re Marc Guiu?” said Hector, halting altogether and turning to look at his friend. He had been hoping this was some sort of elaborate joke, but Marc’s face was dead serious.“I can be honest with you, right Tito?”“Yeah, but there's a difference between honest and stupid—”“Just, hear me out for a second.” Hector shut up. “Pau and Lamine… they’re so fucking good. Better than us—”“Speak for yourself,” said Hector, but there was no bite to it. He knew full well Pau and Lamine were freaks. He’d known they were built differently the first few times they powered through full games at senior level without breaking a sweat while Hector cramped up at the 60th without fail.He was also fine with that.You could still have more than a good career even if you weren’t the Messi or Pique regen. Hector didn’t want to be that. If anything, he liked that his potential was considered “second rate”. It would just make things much sweeter when he surprised everyone.“You know what I mean,” said Marc without missing a beat. “If those two are already that good, what are the chances there’ll be room for more?”“Pique, Fabregas, and Messi were all from the same generation,” Hector pointed out.“And who’s Fabregas in this equation, me or you?” said Marc wryly.“Football doesn’t repeat itself—”“But it is a game of probabilities.”They were standing in front of the doors to their rooms now.“Stop speaking in codes, dude,” Hector said, enjoying the view of his pretty moonlit face. “I barely passed literature.”“My point is,” said Marc, stuttering due to the full attention on him. “It’s— I’ve gotten some offers from other clubs,” he admitted in one breath.Hector’s good mood was shattered.“You’re leaving?!” he said a little too loudly, enough so that Marc winced and motioned for him to lower his voice despite the hall being empty and dead silent.“No, it’s— nothing’s official yet, but my agent’s been talking to Bayern and Chelsea and—”“You’re leaving,” Hector repeated, numb. Suddenly, he felt incredibly stupid. The rest of them had all renewed. It was only a matter of time before Casado was announced as well. All but Marc. “It’s not a done deal!” said Marc, as good as whisper shouting. “I’m considering it. It will depend on Flick, and how the rest of the season with Atletic goes, and—”“You would’ve re-signed with the rest of us if you were staying.” Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. No wonder he’d done little more than laugh when Pau and Lamine cooked up their delusions of the future. He’d known he wouldn’t be part of them.“Tito, please, it’s not like that,” Marc insisted, the nickname bitter. “I might stay—”“Or you might leave,” said Hector, having none of it. “Who else knows?”“Only you,” Marc rushed to say as if that would make a difference. “Literally no one else. I swear. I’ve not decided anything. I just wanted you to know in advance so you’re not shocked in case anything does happen, since—” He hesitated, staring at Hector with an indecipherable look. “—since you’re my best friend.”“Thanks,” said Hector dripping sarcasm. It took all his self-restraint not to yell and scream, to call this son of a bitch all sorts of names.“Tito…” Marc looked hurt. Hector pretended that didn’t hurt and twisted the dagger further.“I’ll be going to bed, now that I know,” he said, picking out his keys from his pocket and unlocking his door in an angry haste.“Don’t be mad—” Marc requested futile, though they both knew that was a losing battle.“Why would I be mad?” Hector lied, pushing his door open and stepping inside even as Marc tried to stop him. “Your career choices are your own. Even if they are fucking stupid—”“Hector—”“Good night,” he said, slamming the door in Marc’s face, uncaring of how loud it was for the rest of the hall. Marc stayed there. Tried to knock. Hector rested his forehead against the thin wood of the door and forced himself to exhale, ignoring the vibrations. He stayed there until Marc gave up and the shadows of his feet were no longer visible through the door crack.He wondered if this was what heartbreak tasted like.Could you even be heartbroken over someone you’d never had?Weeks bled by. Contrary to his platitudes that night, Marc’s move away from Barcelona only grew more and more concrete. Soon, it wasn’t just Hector who knew. Pretty much everyone in the subsidiary team had found out. Whatever conversation Marc had had with Flick had only accelerated the rumors further.Hector felt sick, but he buried his childish thoughts and tried to think logically about why his friend would even want to leave.It was once they’d qualified to the promotion playoff finals thanks to a beautiful remontada started largely by Marc that Hector decided to let his silent treatment drop for a day and simply ask.“They couldn’t give me any guarantees I’d be an important piece for the first team,” he said, not looking at Hector as he dried off his stupid white-blond hair. “When we talked to the representatives, they said I’d get an improved deal, longer contract, and more chances, but Lewandowski, Ferran, Roque, and whoever else might come up would be higher than me on the pecking order.”Duh, Hector wanted to say. You’re eighteen and we both know you’re not a Lamine-level freak. In what world were you expecting to start over the Robert Lewandowski right away? Or the guys they dropped fifty million each on?But he didn’t say that. Because there were things in Marc’s words that made even less sense. “So you’re going to Chelsea,” Hector said, “Chelsea who’ve bought about fifty attackers in the last two years and will have doubled that number by the time you’ll be joining them for pre-season.” It made him sick, the idea of pre-season without Marc, but he pushed out the words with vitriol. Hector had done his research. He’d obsessed over Chelsea’s transfer strategy daily for more than a week now. He knew the competition there was even worse than it was here. They were buying everyone. Literally everyone. They had at least five striker prospects. Meanwhile, Lewandowski was old, Ferran could go through bad patches of form, Xavi hadn’t liked Vitor and he was also only nineteen. Marc could have all the time in the world here if he was willing to try. Plus. “No one will give a fuck which academy you come from at Chelsea.”“It’s not the same,” said Marc, total bullshit. And his other option. Bayern? That one was even worse. It would be a cold day in hell before a teenager displaced Harry fucking Kane and they had that Tel kid on the bench as well. Marc’s excuse, it was all bullshit. “Mhm,” said Hector. “So why are you really leaving?” Miss him with the first team business.Marc didn’t reply. Everything in his body language screamed shame. Hector took the most obvious guess. “Money’s that good, huh?”That tickled Marc’s pride, for a second. He had an ego too, as much his golden retriever personality hid it ninety percent of the time. “It was three times as much,” he said staring at Hector with a colder look he’d gotten used to receiving often these last few days. “And for three times as long. When I get paid way less than everyone else who’d be part of the first team here—” He faltered, fully aware of how petty and shallow that sounded. “—it’s kind of hard to resist.”“Fair enough,” Hector said. “You could’ve just said it was the money from the start instead of dancing around—”“It’s not just the money—”“So what is it about?” Hector challenged. “The first team prospects you’re not gonna have at Chelsea? Or how fed up you are with us?”
How fed up you are with me?
Stop the gay shit, Fort.
Marc threw his hands up, flung his towel atop the pile of other dirty ones, and began to pace. “Stop taking it so fucking personal, Tito,” he said. “It’s a career choice. I’m backing myself to succeed there. It’s the best league in the world right now. Besides, it’s not just myself I have to think about.”It was his whole family. Hector knew that. For the majority of the kids at the academy, that was how it was. Those of them who didn’t have athlete parents often came from poorer households. They were their family’s tickets to a new life. They didn’t just have themselves, they had parents and grandparents and siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles and—Hector knew that. He knew it was especially hard for a generous guy like Marc, who came from a big family.That didn’t mean this didn’t hurt.“You’d rather get some quick money now instead of stick to a smaller contract for a year or two more, then sign a big senior team one?”“I’ve got no guarantees that will happen,” Marc said, though they both knew he was taking the cop-out route.Hector hadn’t known his friend trusted himself that little.“You can’t even speak English,” Hector pointed out, grasping at straws now.“I’ve been learning,” said Marc, grateful for the opportunity to change subjects. “It’s not even that hard, you know. So many of the words are similar and—”Hector tuned him out, let the buzz of his voice become an illegible string of background noise. As much as Marc tried to damage control by insisting he’d visit every summer and call every week and send reels every day and hell, maybe he’d return in four years as Barca’s new star a la Fabregas, Hector found it hard to listen to the image of his new life.It was hard for him to imagine Barca without Marc. They’d joined on the exact same day, followed the exact same youth development path, down to the groups and teams. Everything as far as football was concerned they’d done together. Marc had been his teammate for eleven fucking years. He’d spent more time with the guy over the years than he had with his own parents.There was a reason Marc was Marc to Hector, and all the other hundred Marcs at the academy got the surname treatment.This guy had been there from the start. They were supposed to be on this hellish ride together. And now he was jumping ship before even getting a taste of the finish line.It was hard for Hector to accept that.The worst bit was, he didn’t have anyone to bitch to about it. Lamine was at the Euros. Pau was on holiday in Ibiza or god knew where. His outside friends didn’t get this shit (“So he shouldn’t get that bag because you want him to hold your hand? What is this, the notebook?” ) and no one else on the subsidiary team was in that unique position of floating between Atletic and the real deal. No one but Casado, who was so high off his own renewal Hector didn’t even wanna attempt bursting his bubble with serious talk.So it came down to the only other person in the building who’d maybe understand.Gavi.Hector didn’t seek him out or anything, they knew each other and had a good relationship (he didn’t know anyone on the team who didn’t) but they didn’t exactly hang out a lot in their free time. If at all. Gavi did his own thing. He was an intensely private person.And, if Hector was honest, he was kind of intimidating.La Masia’s talisman, somehow even more so than Lamine. The golden boy. The image of the perfect rise of a guy (unlike Lamine) with a graspable, semi-normal amount of talent. He wasn’t even twenty yet, but his shirt had already been displayed in La Masia’s main hall for years. Compared to the rest of their little hob knob La Masia group, compared to even Inaki who was a whole-ass twenty-five-year-old, he felt like the veteran.He was the veteran.When you only considered time at Barca, he had seniority to half the senior players. At nineteen.It was a bit hard to wrap his head around, and though all of them knew Gavi was a normal guy, a hyperactive stubborn mess of slight anger issues, that distance respect demanded was still there between them.Maybe that was why Hector had been taken aback when Gavi sat at his table one afternoon at lunch, a few days before the second leg of their promotion final against Cordoba, shoved a spoonfull of food in his mouth, swallowed, then asked, “What’s up with you?”“Huh?”“You’ve been walking around like a sad wet dog for weeks now,” he said bluntly. “It’s weird.”Hector laughed at the absurdity of it.“Nothing’s wrong,” he said because other than losing the lo— his best friend to fucking Chelsea, nothing was wrong.“You stopped taking care of your curls,” he said, ignoring Hector’s words completely. “Your girlfriend leave you or something?”This guy was ridiculous.“Nah—Just—” Hector shook his head. It was now or never. “How do you do it?”“Do what?”“Watch people leave.”“Who died?” Gavi asked bleakly. Hector had to laugh again. This guy was a bit dense, wasn’t he?“The team, bro, not life.”“Ah,” said Gavi.“Yeah. How do you like, cope with it?”“I don’t.” Hector had to look up. He had not been expecting that answer. Gavi set his fork down.“When Xavi left — you know Xavi Simons?” Hector nodded. “Yeah, when he left, I was so angry I pretty much ghosted him. For like three years.”Ouch.“We still followed each other on Instagram and stuff, we’d wish each other happy birthday or good luck, but I was even stupider than I am now back then, and leaving Barca for PSG of all clubs felt like a total backstabbing. And his reasoning was such bullshit. I told him PSG would never give him first-team time and that’s exactly what happened. He was too much of a pussy to admit the biggest factor was the money.”Damn. The situation was so eerily similar to Marc’s.“But it’s been a while since then. I grew up. I tried to understand him and now our relationship is better. And he’s just one example. All of them are different. When Fermin went on loan last year I almost killed him, but it ended up working out—” He seemed embarrassed to be talking so much, but upon noticing Hector’s interest, he forced himself to continue. “For other guys like Ilias not really. My friend Cristo, I don’t know if you’ve heard of him, but he didn’t renew. Even Ousmane, he wasn’t La Masia but I really liked Ousmane, you know…”“I guess,” Gavi cleared his throat. “I guess when it’s happened so much, you have no real choice but to accept this is how football works.” His eyes shifted under the table, to his knee. “Hell, you never know if you might be next. You just gotta try and keep your friends regardless and punch a sandbag to get the anger out or something. As much as it sucks.”That made more sense than Hector wanted it to. This was a job, at the end of the day. He’d taken it all for granted, the idea that they’d succeed together. Fairy tales rarely became reality.“Thanks,” he said, internalizing the words.Then Gavi of course asked the question Hector hoped he wouldn’t ask.“Who’s leaving?”Hector sighed. He knew the Chelsea news hadn’t become public knowledge yet, but he wasn’t in the mood to lie either.“Marc,” he said. Gavi immediately understood which Marc Hector meant.“Damn,” said Gavi. “Where?”“Chelsea.”“Ew.”“That’s what I’m saying!” Hector felt vindicated. Finally, someone who understood his struggle.“I swear they want to sign everyone. They’ve been harassing me for months and Rapha apparently also keeps getting bullied with offers.”“I know,” said Hector. “But Marc thinks he’ll have an easier time breaking into the first team there.”Gavi huffed. “Their wages aren’t bad either.”“Bingo,” said Hector.“Well, the only thing I can say is good luck.” Gavi paused. “This really sucks for you though.”“Tell me about it,” said Hector, too caught up in the rush of hating Marc’s decision to worry about the meaning of those words.““Since you’re in love with him and all—”“Yeah…” It took him a second to register that. “Wait, what, no—”Gavi just stared at him half-amused. “I don’t mind,” he said. “It’s cute.”But Hector minded. He minded a lot. He wasn’t delusional enough to think a relationship could ever work. If anyone found out his career would be over. Plus, Marc was straight.“How did you—”“After the away game, in Paris, I saw you two on the bus.” They’d been extra cuddly that night, high on adrenaline. “The way you were looking at him was kinda… you know and now you’ve just confirmed it to me.”Damn. Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as Hector thought.“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone,” Gavi said.“There’s nothing to tell,” Hector said. “It’s one-sided.” Marc was straight and even if he wasn’t, he most certainly did not like Hector.“I don’t know about that.”Hector did know, though. He wasn’t delusional.The return leg of the final rolled around. They were playing away. It absolutely reeked, the atmosphere. The cordoba fans hated them and their players, egos bruised by having to compete with teenagers, fought rougher than MMA fighters.Hector was still determined to win, in part for himself and the team, in larger part out of some misguided belief winning this would somehow change Marc’s mind. He even scored, less than fifteen minutes in. For a second there as he felt Marc hug him from behind while they celebrated, Hector allowed himself to hope.It was doused pretty quickly in the second half. They conceded not once, but twice, and if they wanted any chance to win now, they’d need to score two more by the end of the ninety.That was a tall order for a bunch of kids.They lost.Hector felt numb as they clapped the few away fans, ignoring the tear-stained faces of some of the guys, the determined gazes of others, and the entirety of Marc.The trip home was a somber affair.By the time they got back to the academy, they were so defeated, both physically and mentally, that Hector wanted to do little else but change into pajamas and sleep, preferably into next week.He did not want to let Marc into his room.“Please,” said Marc. “It’s really important.”Hector let him in.“You were great out there today,” he said.Hector didn’t respond. Nothing about that statement was “really important”.“I mean it. Your goal was fantastic.”Fat load of good that did. He half wanted to cry. He focused on staying silent instead.“Tito…” Marc said gently. They were both standing there in the middle of his room, on edge, illuminated by little other than Hector’s bedside lamp, almost like at any moment they’d pull out their fencing swords and start a battle. Hector refused to make this more comfortable by sitting down on principle. “Don’t ice me out.”“Don’t tell me what to do,” Hector responded, putting some distance between himself and Marc. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss the guy or punch him, or both. “Our last game together is gonna be this shitty defeat and you want me to be happy about some stupid goal.”Marc tried to laugh. “It’s not gonna be our last game—”For another delusional split second, Hector let himself believe Marc had changed his mind. His chest wound itself up.“— we’ll still play together for Spain.”“Fuck you,” Hector spat out. “Fuck you, seriously.”“Tito—”“No, shut up.” Hector ignored how Marc had shortened the distance between them subtly again. “First you play like ass, next you ambush me in my room, now you’re rubbing it in my face that you’re— you’re—”He knew he sounded hysterical and ridiculous, but it was like weeks of pent-up anger were finally boiling over.Hector put his foot down. “Either say your important shit now or fuck off. I mean it.”“I can’t really—”“Say it or I’ll kick your ass.”It was so ridiculous Marc’s mask faltered and he almost began to laugh. Seeing that, Hector felt his own lips quirking up. That mixed with the stinging in his eyes had him feeling like he was losing his mind.“I can’t say it,” Marc said. “I have to… um… do it?”“What the hell are you talking about you freak—?”Was this some sort of huge joke?“Just— Could you—” Marc dragged Hector closer by the hem of his tee. Hector couldn’t just see him, he could smell him, feel the warmth radiating off him. Did the guy want a hug or something?“Sorry about this,” he said, and before Hector could even demand an explanation for that he was getting kissed.It was soft and timid, nothing more than a solid touch of lips, like Marc hadn’t wanted to leave without trying it at least once, but now that Hector had gotten one taste he wanted more, needed more. So, ignoring Marc’s shock at Hector’s reaction, he started to move, started to really kiss him, both of them moving backward and backward and backward as their hands began to roam and their mouths opened wider until Marc’s back hit the door with a slight thud and Hector could cage him right where he wanted him. It was intoxicating and the speed at which it went from a childish kiss to full-on making out almost scared him.“Hold on,” Marc said, staring at him wide-eyed and with spit-slick puffed-up lips. “You want this too?”“You’re an idiot,” Hector said and went back to kissing him again, prodding at his lips with his tongue, memorizing every inch of him with his fingers.They started tearing their clothes off each other, throwing them wherever there was space. Soon it was Hector with his back to the matress, Marc leaving open-mouthed kisses all over his neck and collarbones. “I hate you so much,” he said, holding back a moan as Marc sucked the particularly sensitive spot behind his ear. This didn’t feel real. This couldn’t be real. “You’re leaving and this— ah— this is how you say goodbye?”“It’s not goodbye,” said Marc.“Then what is it, genius?”“Something I had to do before I went.”“That’s the literal definition of a goodbye.”“No, it’s not.”Hector wanted to point out how wrong and dumb that was with some witty reply, but Marc’s kisses were trailing down his chest and onto his stomach and he was lifting his hips so his bottoms would be easier to take off and—“Son of a bitch,” Hector said, half of it a moan. “Fuck. You’re driving me crazy. You can’t just— mhm.”“Want me to stop?” Marc asked. He had the audacity to be genuine about it.Hector just tightened his hand around Marc’s hair and moaned.He wanted this to last forever. Maybe that was part of the reason why he stopped Marc before he could get to the finish line. It was all going way too fast. Way too rushed and desperate.“Why are you doing this?” Hector asked after they’d been kissing for a while, just kissing, to get things to slow down again. “It better not be some—”“No, I—” Marc swallowed. He was so fucking pretty, Hector felt like he was losing his mind. “I’ve wanted to for so long. I—” He swallowed again. “I love you.”Hector had to take a second to internalize that.“I’ve loved you for a really, really long time,” he reiterated, as though to make sure Hector understood.Hector’s eyes stung. “…but you’re leaving anyway?” What the hell was he supposed to do with that information?He shivered as Marc wiped away the stupid tears running down his cheeks. “You know we can’t actually—”Be together. Of course he knew that. He wasn’t an idiot. That sort of thing was a death sentence in their profession. But they could have the next best thing. They could be teammates. They would win everything together. Maybe sneak away here and there. And two decades from now when their trophy cabinets were full to bursting they could buy a little house by the beach or travel the world or—“And the future we imagined as kids doesn’t have to be the only good one.”“But—” He was so fucking frustrated. Eleven fucking years together. All down the drain.“This choice isn’t easy at all. It’s a massive gamble. But I’m hoping it’ll be the best decision for me and my family and… I’m scared too, you know. I’ve never lived away from Barcelona ever. I… I need support.”It was such a genuine plea Hector didn’t have it in him to point out the choice was the wrong one. Because at the end of the day, he didn’t know that for sure. Maybe it would all turn out for the better and he’d look back on his weeks of sulking as a fond memory.“I’m sorry,” he said, punctuating that with a kiss that lasted a little longer than strictly necessary. “I’ve been a massive dick.”“I don’t blame you,” Marc assured. “If you came out and said you’re moving to— to Benfica or something out of the blue I’d hate you too.”Hector tried to crack a smile, but it was difficult. “How do I know you won’t get all wrapped up with those London kids and forget all about us, huh?”“Because this isn’t goodbye, Tito,” Marc said. “It’s a promise.”So Hector shoved all his worries to the side for one more night and allowed himself to be a boy in love.