Echoes of Glory: FC Barcelona Imagine

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.I Fell In Love Once (Fermín Lòpez.)

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Fermín POV:

The sound of laughter fills the air. It’s Pedri’s laugh—light, unrestrained, and warm, the kind that lingers long after it fades. It’s his laugh, but it’s you who causes it.

You who sits across from us, telling some silly story about your childhood, your eyes sparkling in a way that makes my heart clench.

I try to laugh along, to keep up the facade, but every word out of your mouth feels like a dagger.

How did I let myself get here? How did I let myself fall for you when you’re not mine to love?

Pedri notices everything, always. He leans closer to you, his hand brushing yours as he comments on your story, his smile brighter than the sun.

The way you smile back at him, the way your eyes soften—it’s like watching a dream I can never touch.

I fell in love once.
Did I make a mistake?

I glance away, pretending to be engrossed in my phone. My heart is in pieces, and I wonder if you can feel it—if you can hear the cry of my heart beneath my quiet demeanor.

If only you loved me instead.
If only I were your happiness.
If only we grew old together.
If only it were me, my love.

Later, when it’s just me and Pedri, he brings you up like he always does.

“She’s incredible, isn’t she?” he says, his voice filled with awe.

I nod, unable to find words. What am I supposed to say? Yes, she’s incredible, and I’m drowning in the realization that she’ll never be mine?

“Sometimes,” Pedri continues, his gaze distant, “I think she’s too good for me.”

Too good for him? My mind races with a hundred reasons why he’s wrong, why I’m the one who’s unworthy. You and Pedri have this natural connection, this ease between you that I could never replicate.

But still, the bitterness wells up inside me, and I can’t stop the thought:

If only it were me.

Days turn into weeks, and my heart refuses to let go. Every smile you give him feels like a blow; every glance you spare me feels like hope. But hope is cruel. It strings you along until it crushes you completely.

One evening, after training, I find you sitting alone in the stands. You’re scrolling through your phone, your expression unreadable.

“Hey,” I say, approaching hesitantly.

You look up, and your smile, as always, disarms me.

“Hey, Fermín. What’s up?”

“I just…”

I hesitate, unsure why I even came over.

“I saw you sitting here. Thought I’d check on you.”