Until my Last Breath

41

Barcelona, Spain.

"You play FIFA?!" Gavi asks, raising an eyebrow, the surprise evident in his voice.

I smirk, tossing him a controller. "I do, but only when Arthur is around. He got it for me for Christmas, but I never really play unless he's here." I shrug. "I'd like to believe I'm not half bad either."

His chuckle is low, almost amused, like he doesn't believe me. I don't blame him. Football is his entire life-on and off the pitch. But as soon as we start playing, I notice the way his smirk shifts ever so slightly, his confidence faltering when I make a clean pass up the field. He recovers quickly, but I see it.

The first few matches are close. I manage to score a couple of times, forcing him to actually focus, to stop underestimating me. But he still wins. Every single time.

"You always have to win, don't you?" I grumble, biting my lip in frustration, but I'm not actually mad-just determined. The competitor in me refuses to accept defeat.

"It's not my fault I'm better," he teases, nudging me with his elbow.

I narrow my eyes playfully. "One more. This time, I'm definitely winning."

The fire in my voice must be convincing because his expression changes slightly. He watches me, like he's genuinely enjoying how worked up I'm getting over this.

We start again, and as expected, he takes the lead. But somewhere during the match, something shifts. I don't know what it is, but I feel it. His movements are still sharp, but every now and then, he hesitates-just enough to let me get through. It's subtle, but I notice.

And when I finally score, when the animated players on-screen celebrate my win, I nearly jump off the couch.

"I DID IT!" I yell, my arms flying up in victory. "I beat you!"

A laugh bubbles out of me, pure, unfiltered excitement filling my chest. I spin around, grabbing his arm without thinking, grounding myself in something real. "I finally beat you!"

His body tenses ever so slightly at my touch, but before I can think too much about it, I pull away.

But something about the way he's looking at me makes me pause. He's smiling, but it's different-softer, almost knowing.

"Wait..." I narrow my eyes, studying him.

He freezes.

"You let me win, didn't you?"

He tries to play dumb, shrugging. "What? No, you earned it."

My jaw drops, and I smack his arm. "You did let me win! Oh my god, out of pity?!"

"Not pity!" He protests, laughing as he rubs his arm. "I just... I thought you deserved it."

I groan, falling back against the couch, still laughing despite myself. "You're unbelievable."

He just grins. "Maybe a little."

There's something about the way he's looking at me-like he's seeing me differently, or maybe like he's just now realizing something.

And then, completely unprompted, he says,
"God, you're amazing, you know that?"

I blink. It's such a simple statement, but something about the way he says it-so effortlessly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world-makes my breath hitch.

For a second, I can't speak. Can't breathe. The weight of his gaze presses into me, warm and unwavering, and I'm frozen in it. His brown eyes hold something I can't quite place-something deep, something real.