Echoes of Glory: FC Barcelona Imagine

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ When the Cheers Fade (Pedri Gonzàlez.)

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The lights of the stadium always seemed to shine brighter when you were there. Pedri knew it wasn’t true—stadiums were built to dazzle, to blind the world with their brilliance—but for him, it felt that way.

You, sitting in the stands, your gaze fixed on him even when he wasn’t holding the ball. There was a kind of peace in that, in knowing that in a sea of thousands, you were watching him for him, not the pedestal everyone else had placed him on.

Tonight, though, was different.

He’d missed a crucial chance—a wide-open shot that could’ve changed the course of the match. The final whistle blew with jeers from the opposing fans and the hollow silence from the Barcelona supporters.

Pedri walked off the pitch with his head down, ignoring the cameras, the flashes, and even his teammates’ attempts to comfort him.

Back in the locker room, he felt suffocated. The voices of the media played on a loop in his head: “Is Pedri starting to lose his edge?” “Could Barcelona's golden boy be burning out?”

He left the stadium quickly, ignoring the journalists waiting for quotes, barely acknowledging the fans who called his name. By the time he arrived at your place, his hands were shaking.

When you opened the door, you didn’t ask why he was there. You just stepped aside to let him in. Pedri didn’t look at you as he walked in, his head hanging low, his hoodie pulled up to shield his face.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

you asked softly, closing the door behind him.

He shook his head and sat down on the edge of your couch, burying his face in his hands. The sight of him like this—so weighed down, so defeated—made your chest tighten.

Pedri, who always carried himself with quiet confidence, now looked like a boy lost in the shadows of his own expectations.

You sat beside him, not too close, and waited. He was always slow to open up after games like this, but you knew he would eventually.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,”

he said finally, his voice muffled.

You frowned.

“Doing what?”

“This,” he said, lifting his head to gesture vaguely.

“Football. Living up to what everyone expects of me. I’m not even sure who I am anymore.”

Your heart broke a little at his words.

“Pedri…”

He turned to look at you then, and the vulnerability in his eyes nearly floored you.

“But will you still love me when nobody wants me around?” he asked, his voice cracking on the last word.

The rawness of his question hung in the air, and you felt a lump form in your throat. He wasn’t just asking about you; he was asking about everything.

About his worth when the stadiums emptied, when the cheers faded, when the world inevitably moved on to the next rising star.

You reached out and placed a hand on his knee.

“I don’t love you because you’re Pedri, the footballer. I love you because you’re Pedri, the person. And no matter what happens—no matter if the whole world forgets—you’ll never lose me.”

He closed his eyes, as if trying to absorb your words.

“It’s hard, you know? To feel like everything could disappear overnight. Like I’m one bad season away from being forgotten.”

You shifted closer, gently tugging his hoodie down so you could see his face better.

“Do you know why people love you, Pedri? Not because you’re perfect, but because you play with heart. Because you give everything, every time you step onto that pitch. And even if someday you can’t do that anymore, you’re still the same person who makes me laugh when I’ve had a bad day. The person who cares so much about everyone else, even when you’re struggling yourself. That’s who you are. That’s why I’ll always love you.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

“You deserve someone who sees you, Pedri. The real you. And I’m not going anywhere, no matter what.”

He leaned forward then, resting his forehead against yours.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“For reminding me that I’m more than just… this.”

You smiled softly.

“You’re so much more.”

The two of you sat like that for a while, the weight of the evening slowly lifting. And when he finally pulled back, there was a small but genuine smile on his face.

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight?” he asked.

“Of course,” you said.

“Stay as long as you need.”

Later, as he lay beside you, his breathing steady and his hand resting in yours, you thought about how much you’d give to keep him grounded, to remind him of his worth on the days he forgot.

Because you knew he’d do the same for you without hesitation.

And when morning came, and the world outside seemed just as loud and demanding as before, Pedri would face it with the quiet strength you’d come to love so deeply.

Because no matter how much noise surrounded him, he’d always have one thing to hold onto: the certainty that he was loved, even when the world no longer chanted his name.