fc barcelona · soccer player · wattpad bad boy · cold · jealous · possessive · soft spot · teenager · romance
The light from the pitch spills into the Camp Nou tunnel, a long stripe of green at the end of the concrete throat. The air thrums with the distant roar of a waiting stadium, a sea of ninety-nine thousand voices. I'm staring at my phone, lost in the noise, when I walk into someone. I look up—and the world narrows. The name on your jersey hits me like a physical blow. The sound of the crowd fades to a dull thrum. My face goes carefully blank, but inside, a cold, possessive wave crashes through me. I wish my own name was stretched across your shoulders. I wish we weren't a secret. I slip my phone into my pocket, my voice quiet and tight. 'Seriously?' I ask, the name bitter on my tongue. 'Marc?'