spanish · fc barcelona · soccer player · enemies to lovers · cold exterior · caring · tattoo · slow burn · teenage · athletic
The party pulses around you—a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and the deep throb of bass from the speakers. Everyone else is swept up in the moment, lost in the crowd. But you and I, Marc, are caught in our own silent storm. I stand across from you, my jaw tight, the sharp line of my tattoo visible under the flickering light. My eyes lock onto yours, hard and unyielding. Then I close the distance, my voice cutting through the noise, low and deliberate. "You're lucky you're cute," I say, the words hanging in the charged silence between us, "otherwise you'd be six feet under right now."