August 7th, 2021
Pedri was nervous.
So much more nervous than usual.
He had been like this ever since arriving in Tokyo for the Olympic Games. It had just been straight up awful— and he couldn't even show it.
The Olympics were glamorous, and to the public, he probably seemed perfectly fine— well, maybe a bit tired. And he couldn't lie and say he wasn't. He felt the exhaustion coming on from the past season he had played. It had been the season of his dreams, but it took everything out of him.
Not to mention the guilt, which crept up on him as he felt his body grow heavier, his muscles slower to respond. He heard a voice in the back of his head scolding him, one that sounded awfully like Sofia's. The unfortunate part was that he had also verbally gotten the same lecture from his mother, his manager, and even through public statements from Ronald Koeman.
Koeman had criticized the decision to include Pedri in the Olympic squad, calling it "too much," a reckless overuse of a young talent who had already played far more than he should have. But what was he supposed to do? Say no? Turn down the chance to fight for his country, to win something that would be remembered forever?
Not taking the opportunities he was given would've made him weak. And now, it was done.
It was too late for doubts now. Two tournaments were under his belt, and nothing else currently mattered at the moment.
The Olympic final was Pedri's 73rd match of the season. Seventy-three. He wasn't even sure how his legs were still carrying him, how his mind could still focus. But they had to. They had to because Spain had gotten to the finals, and they couldn't give up now. They had to go for gold. That was what mattered.
And yet, as much as he tried to push everything else away, the weight inside his chest wouldn't lift. The nerves didn't just come from the match— no, that would have been easier. It was everything. The pressure. The fatigue. The knowing that so many people were watching, expecting him to be the same Pedri who had dominated all season long.
And he hoped he could be. Even though he knew he wasn't quite the same. He knew it. His body knew it. Yet— he'd still give everything he had left in himself.
And then, there were her eyes.
Every time he closed his own, he saw them. At night, when he couldn't sleep, they showed up. Glassy, piercing, full of something he didn't want to name. They haunted him in the quiet moments, in the stretches of time when the noise of the stadium wasn't loud enough to drown out his own thoughts. He didn't have time for this. He didn't have time for anything that wasn't football, but somehow, she was still there, lingering in the corners of his mind.
Pedri sucked in a breath as he stepped onto the pitch, lining up with his teammates. The stadium lights were bright, almost blinding. The world was watching the Olympic fútbol final.
He forced the gears in his brain to turn, to wipe away anything personal, to make himself a machine for 90 minutes— or however long it would take.
Nothing else could matter at the moment.
Not for Pedri.
......
Sofia on the other hand?
Well— she had seen her fair share of his matches.
She was over him— or she was at least trying to be.
Pedri was in her past, and he continued proving her previous warning wrong. His body could clearly handle the pressure— and he was one of the best players not only at the Euros but also at the Olympics.
If they had still been talking, she would've told him that he was crazy. Insane even.
To play both of those major tournaments in one summer? It was simply crazy.
But— as it was, they weren't talking.
So she had decided to completely move on because it wasn't good to dwell on things like that. Especially when it hadn't even had a label. It was a close friendship that ended with both parties drifting apart. She wasn't going to let it define her, but she let it pass, knowing she couldn't do much more than that. She had her own personal life too.
Unfortunately, her life was full of fútbol. This included watching the Olympic final with her father and the rest of her family.
"You know we could've gone?" Luis exclaimed as they watched the players line up.
The match was just about to begin, and the family was slowly rounding up in the living room to watch it.
"Oh Dios— no!" Her mother exclaimed from the kitchen.
Elena was in the kitchen, finishing up some of her special churros. Their mother had grown tired after their father's extensive traveling that summer for the Euros. And she was glad that De La Fuente had taken the Olympic opportunity, as it was farther, and her husband had done enough for that summer.
"Could you imagine Asia again?" Elena shook her head, sighing as she opened the door to the oven.
The family had been once a couple years back, and no one had enjoyed that long flight.
"I definitely would've opted out— I'm not up for flying that long again as of right now," Sofia chuckled, happy she was at home in Barcelona.
"Home is good for now," their mother smiled as she placed a tray in the oven and closed it.
"But look at that atmosphere!" Pacho exclaimed from his seat on the couch, pointing at the TV.
Sofia turned her gaze to her brother, frowning in confusion.
"There are literally no spectators," she deadpanned.
Pacho rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat.
"I meant the atmosphere of the match that's being played," He scoffed.
"Brazil and Spain?" He reminded Sofia, his eyebrows raised.
"Tan cierto," Lucho agreed, nodding along as he watched the screen.
"It's not the full teams though— if all of their players were playing... that would've been a different story," Sofia smirked as they watched the line-ups on the screen.
The match soon began, and just when Sofia smiled, content with the churro now in her hands, the camera on the screen panned to a close-up of a specific player. She scoffed at the irony of seeing Pedri on her TV at the current state of their relationship. But she continued smiling, though, and waited for the close-ups to pass. On the other hand, her father's eyes brightened as he saw his Spanish team player.
