Echoes of Glory: FC Barcelona Imagine

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ One Call Away (Pedri Gonzàlez.)

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The world had a funny way of making everything feel overwhelming at once.

You were sitting on the floor of your room, back against the wall, the soft hum of your phone the only sound in the quiet.

The tears had dried by now, but the weight in your chest remained—a heavy ache that wouldn't go away no matter how tightly you wrapped your arms around yourself.

You hadn’t told anyone how much you were struggling. Not your friends, not your family—not even Pedri.

But he knew.

Somehow, he always knew.

It was past midnight when your phone lit up with his name.

Pedri: are you awake?

You stared at the message for a moment before replying.

You: yeah. kinda.

There was no hesitation. The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Pedri: I’m outside. Come down.

You blinked, confused. He hadn’t said he was coming. You hadn’t even asked. But when you peeked through your window, there he was—leaning against his car, hoodie pulled up, eyes on your window like he knew you'd be looking.

You grabbed your jacket and headed down.

He didn’t say anything when you reached him. Just opened the passenger door like he always did and waited until you slid in.

The drive was quiet, the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward but comforting. Like he was giving you space without needing to be asked.

You didn’t even know where you were going, and you didn’t care. Just being next to him felt like enough.

Eventually, he pulled over near an old overlook just outside the city, where the lights below looked like stars scattered across the ground.

He turned the engine off but kept the heater running. Then he looked at you.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said softly, “but I’m here, alright?”

You swallowed, eyes stinging again, even though you thought you were all cried out.

“I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

“You’re not bothering me,” he said, voice a little firmer this time.

“You never could.”

You turned to face him. He wasn’t looking at you—he was looking straight ahead, like he was thinking hard.

“I know life gets loud sometimes,” he said, quieter now.

“And I know you try to carry it all by yourself, like you’re supposed to be some kind of superhero. But you don’t have to be. Not with me.”

That was it. The tears came back, slower this time. Softer.

“I just didn’t know who to call,” you admitted.

“You don’t have to figure everything out,” he whispered.

“You just have to call. That’s it. One call, and I’ll be there. Anytime, anywhere.”

You smiled through the tears, shaking your head.

“You say that like you’re invincible.”

“I’m not,” he chuckled, finally glancing over.

“But I promise, I’ll always show up for you. That’s kind of my thing.”

There was a beat of silence. You watched as he reached across the console, fingers brushing yours before curling gently around your hand.

“You don’t have to go through stuff alone,” he said.

“Not when you’ve got me.”

The city lights shimmered below, but they weren’t nearly as bright as the warmth that bloomed quietly in your chest.

For the first time in days, you let yourself breathe.

Really breathe.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, and he didn’t move. Just let you rest there like you belonged.

And in that moment, you didn’t feel like the world was crashing anymore.

Because you weren’t alone.

You never really were.