Echoes of Glory: FC Barcelona Imagine

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚Attachment Issues (Marc Guiu.)

⚽

The silence is heavy, almost oppressive, as you sit there staring at your phone. Marc’s messages are usually so quick, so effortless—every notification lighting up your screen, every word a reminder that he’s there.

But today, it's different. Hours slip by, and every tick of the clock feels like it’s building a wall between you.

You check the last message you sent him for what feels like the hundredth time, your fingers hovering over the screen.

It was just a simple "Hey, how's it going? :)" Nothing strange, nothing that would make him ignore it. Right?

At first, you brush it off. He’s busy, you tell yourself. He’s probably got training, maybe some post-match analysis or team meetings. But as the minutes drag on, rationality slips away, giving way to a creeping panic that grips your chest.

You try to push it down, but it keeps rising, curling its way into your thoughts, making your hands tremble as you check your phone again.

“Why isn’t he answering?” you whisper to yourself.

You try to distract yourself, burying your head in a textbook, pretending to study. But every word blurs together. The idea of waiting feels unbearable, each second stretching into eternity.

You know this feeling too well; it’s an attachment, a vulnerability you hate but can’t ignore. And with Marc, it’s somehow even more intense.

Finally, you text a friend, trying to feel less alone. But even that doesn’t work, because all you can think about is Marc.

Did you say something wrong? Did he get tired of your constant messaging?

You go over every conversation, every interaction, analyzing every small detail. You even consider messaging him again, but a voice in the back of your mind stops you—what if he finds you annoying? What if you’re pushing him away?

Anxiety has a way of playing tricks on you, twisting little things into worst-case scenarios. And right now, it's whispering every insecurity you’ve ever had, making you believe them. Your hands shake as you put your phone down, but you can’t ignore the urge to check it.

The screen lights up, and your heart jumps, only to sink again when it’s not his name.

Hours pass, and the silence becomes deafening. A weight presses down on your chest, and you find yourself struggling to breathe, caught between anger at yourself for feeling this way and the nagging sense of abandonment that keeps creeping in.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when your phone finally buzzes, startling you out of the spiral. It’s Marc. You feel a flood of relief and tension release all at once.

"Hey, sorry! Training ran late, and I didn’t see my phone," he writes, following it up with a sheepish emoji.

"You okay?"

The words sink in slowly, and as much as you want to feel angry or let him know how much his silence affected you, all you feel is relief.

You tell yourself to be casual, to keep it light, but there’s a part of you that wants him to know—wants him to understand what these hours without him have done to you.

“I thought you forgot about me,” you type back, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. The vulnerability feels raw, almost too much, but you hit send anyway, your heart racing as you wait for his response.

Almost immediately, his reply comes in. "Forget about you? Never," he types, adding a heart emoji, “I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”

You stare at the message, letting his words wash over you. It's so simple, but you can feel the sincerity in each word. And for a moment, you let yourself relax, the tension easing as you realize he’s still there, still present, still thinking of you.

"You don’t have to apologize," you reply, even though part of you feels like maybe he should.

"It’s just… I guess I just missed you."

There’s a pause, and then his next message pops up.

"I missed you too. I’m here now, promise. Want to call?"

The idea of hearing his voice sends a rush of warmth through you. Without hesitation, you reply, “Yes.”

Moments later, his voice fills the air, warm and familiar. “Hey,” he says softly, and that single word is enough to dissolve any lingering doubt.

You take a shaky breath, letting the sound of his voice anchor you. You try to explain, hesitantly, about how hard the silence was, how your mind kept racing.

"I get it," he says, his tone soft. “I should’ve checked in. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

His understanding calms something deep within you. It’s more than just reassurance; it’s a reminder that he cares enough to listen, to be there even when he doesn’t understand every part of your anxiety.

For the next hour, you talk, sharing everything and nothing, and with every word, the knot in your chest loosens.

By the time you hang up, the panic has faded, leaving only the warmth of his presence lingering even in the silence.

And as you lie there in bed, you remind yourself that maybe it’s okay to feel this deeply for someone. Because Marc isn’t going anywhere.