𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎... // 𝙵𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚃𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚜

4

BARCELONA

Jadrien's Perspective

I remember the dark morning when me and Eric officially were completely packed up, and about to drive to the airport, to head off back to Spain.

And I remember the ring of the doorbell of our now empty house. Everything echoed. The doorbell, my voice, our footsteps. Even the silent moments echoed.

"Who could possibly be at the door?" I remember asking Eric, who was in the other room, checking to make sure there wasn't anything left in the house.

"I don't know," he called back. "Why don't you get it?"

I shrugged, and peeped through the peephole to the house, and I froze in that moment at who I saw standing there. 

Phil Foden, in a royal blue hoodie, dark sweatpants, and a red baseball cap stood there next to Ferran Torres, who was wearing a plain white t-shirt, a silver chain simply necklace, and blue jeans. I threw open the door, saying, "Why are you guys here?!"

Phil's face lit up as he responded with, "We got to say goodbye to Eric, but we haven't gotten a chance to say goodbye to you too, Jadrien." Suddenly, Foden's arms were around me, and I got stiff and froze, because I had never once before imagined I would have ever gotten a hug from Phil.

Despite the number of times I imagined getting a hug from Phil.

After a moment of nothing, I finally wrapped my arms around him back, and put my cheek into his shoulder, saying, "I'm gonna miss you, Phil. It really has been years being here in Manchester."

"Yeah, it has, hasn't it? I'm going to miss you too, believe it or not."

I laughed a bit, nodding as he pulled away.

I glanced to Ferran, not quite sure why he was there. Me and Ferran had only spoken to each other once- a night in a bar when I was drunk, and Eric somehow convinced Ferran to stay. That night, we didn't talk about anything of much importance. The deepest topic we discussed was the best Spiderman movie. Yeah, real deep, right?

So why was he here? Maybe to say goodbye to Eric once more? Because surely it wasn't because of me...

Ferran put a hand out for me to take and shake, and I took it, shaking his hand, as he said very simply, "It's really too bad you and Eric are moving off to Barcelona now. I hope you guys do well. Eric has been great to me from the beginning, and he often has spoken about how wonderful his sister is." He smiled softly, and gently, mimicking Phil's actions, gave me a very quick, stiff, awkward, hug.

He smelled like sweet coffee or tea- I couldn't tell, but there was definitely chocolate in that scent. Sweet, lovely chocolate scent.

Then Eric was up behind me, and he said the last goodbye, with two hugs, to these two of his teammates. Well, I guessed they wouldn't be teammates any longer, would they?

Then we left, got on the plane, and headed off to Barcelona, Spain, where we belong.

At that point, I guess I had no idea that in less than a year, Ferran would once again be one of Eric's teammates.

In Barcelona, we got a house, and I met the team, and things were good. Things still are good, because here we are, in Barcelona, still.

I texted my old friend, Isabella Martinez, informing her of the move, and we got together, and we caught up with each other.

We were sitting in her modern, comfortable living room, and she was talking about her singing career, and how her boyfriend just broke up with him, and how much of a son of a b**** he is, and how she wrote a hit song about it, and how he was awful and he cursed her out on Twitter and then moved off to Paris or something.

She's still the Isabella I've always known, I remember thinking in that moment.

And then she asked me about Manchester. So I told her about Phil Foden first, and all the drama with that. Then I told her how well Eric was doing there, but he felt it was better for us to go back to Barcelona. And then the conversation shifted to Ferran, somehow. Maybe simply just because he was on my thoughts, ever since that chocolate hug.

"There's this other guy at Manchester, and although I definitely don't like him, and I hardly know him, for some reason, I'm gonna miss him too, I think. I don't even know why, but his name is Ferran Torres. I'm not sure what made him stand out from the others. I mean, it's not like he had like, other-worldly looks or anything. I mean, don't get me wrong, he is quite handsome, but I think it's hard to find a footballer that's not."

"Uhh... Are you sure about that?" Isabella said challengingly, and I rolled my eyes, because of course she was about to make it her mission to prove me wrong. "How about... Di Maria, that Argentinian guy? Ronaldinho is kinda ugly. Or how about Luka Modric? Ronaldo's kinda ugly too, now that I think about it... Oh, oh, and-"

"Shut up!" I had said. "Just because they aren't the hottest doesn't mean they're freaking ugly! How do you even know about this? You don't even know about football, for goodness sake! So why the hell do you know about which ones are 'the ugliest' even though they're not. Like, Ronaldo? Do you realise what you just said? You just said Cristiano Ronaldo is ugly. Like, wow, girl, you're not scared to tell the truth, are you? If you say that in front of the wrong person, I might have to start planning for your funeral!"

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest with a shrug. "Really? Are football fans really that insane?"

I couldn't help but start laughing, then, as I said, "Well, I'm not sure about all football fans, but definitely Ronaldo fans are."

This got a good laugh out of her, which was good to see. "Well, aren't you a football fan?" she asked me.

I laughed a bit, shaking my head, saying, "It's hard to explain. I wouldn't call myself a fan, considering my own brother is a footballer on first teams himself, and I usually get to meet at least some of his teammates, but I definitely do like football. It's weird, though. I usually wouldn't be into football, but I guess that's just kind of what happens when your best friend and brother has chosen to make his whole life centered around the sport."

She nodded, contemplating this. "Sure, that makes sense." After a few seconds, she said, "Oh, what was that guy's name? I know how Phil Foden looks, but the other guy at Manchester?"

"Oh, Ferran Torres," I say, a little smile appearing on my face for some reason. I'm not sure why, but at the mention of him, I can't help but smile.

She took out her phone, apparently pulling up a picture, and crinkled her nose. "That's your type, huh? He doesn't look that different from Foden, now that I think about it."

"What the hell, Isabella?" I asked, which is a thing I ask of my friend probably a little too often. "How do they look similar?"

"Dunno," she said, then added, just to annoy me, "Both just plain, not-too-handsome, average football guys with short dark hair, the same smile, and a similar face shape."

"Girl," I had sighed, rolling my eyes. "You are so wrong." You would think I'd feel annoyed at her because she was comparing Phil to Ferran, but I was mad because she was comparing Ferran to Phil, although I didn't even realize it. I didn't realise I was mad because I thought Ferran was better than Phil at that point. I thought it was the  other way around. But now, looking back, I know exactly what I was feeling in that moment.