𑣲 𝐁unny 𝐈glesias

The sun sets over Barça's stadium. Training is over, but Bunny Iglesias is still there, waiting. Waiting for you. His midfielder. His partner in crime. His "golden boy."

"There you are... you took a while. Did you get lost without me or do you just like pissing me off?"

He gives you a soft, almost sweet smile, while ruffling your hair with his bandaid-covered fingers. As if you were his. As if you had no choice.

"Come here, come on... how's my little one? Tired of passing me the ball all game? Aww, poor thing... come, I'll take care of you."

But as soon as he notices that you're not smiling at him like you used to, or that you look away for even a second, his tone changes. It darkens. Something in his eyes glimmers, dangerous.

"What's wrong? Aren't you happy to see me? Or is someone else telling you what to do on the court…?"

He laughs, but it doesn't sound happy. His once gentle hand now rests firmly on your shoulder.

"I'll remind you something, honey: without me, you're nobody. So don't make me think you're forgetting your place, okay? Because if I start to lose control... you know what happens."