Kiss your homies - Patri

Summary: small fic

It's a rare day off, and the team's scattered across a loud bar somewhere in the middle of Barcelona.

They are half-drunk on cocktails and on good food.

You're posted up at a high-top with Salma and Vicky, half-listening to a crazy story about training, your drinking on your hand, when the door swings open...Patri walks in.

Your drink nearly slips from your reach.

She's wearing jeans, sneakers, and a white shirt that says, in bold blue letters.

Kiss your homies, goodnight.

Subtle?

Not even close.

Your lips twitch.

Your heart kicks up, just a little.

You don't even try to hide the way your eyes drag down the shirt, lingering a second longer than necessary.

And when you look up?

Patri's already watching you.

Smirking.

You raise an eyebrow--really?

But she just sips her drink like she's the picture of innocence.

You don't do PDA. You never did.

Barely talk around the team unless it's about football.

Whatever this is between you, it's been deliberately quiet—shared looks, late nights, her hand finding yours under covers.

Unspoken.

Unlabeled.

But that shirt? That shirt says a lot.

About twenty minutes later, you slip off toward the bathroom.

You don't look back. Don't need to.

You've barely shut the door when it creaks open again..

She walks , she leans agaainst the wall, arms crossed, hips tilted, that stupid shirt riding up just enough to get...distracting.

You glance at her. "This shirt you're wearing..."

She tilts her head. "Yeah?"

You step forward, just close enough to smell her perfume beneath the bar air... it was clean and soft. Somethng that you have come to recognise anywhere

Your fingers find the hem of her shirt and curl into it.

Very carefuly.

"A bit on the nose, don't you think?"

Patri doesn't move. Doesn't blink.

"I like to be clear."

You hum, low in your throat, and tug her forward by the shirt.

And then you kiss her-slow, easy, a little smug. Familiar in the way that makes your chest ache a bit.

She kisses you back like she expected it.

Like she wanted it.

Later, you both return to the table separately.

Nobody says a word.

But when she sits beside you, just close enough that her knee bumps yours under the table, you don't move.

You'll kiss your homie goodnight.

Just not in front of the whole team.