Geneva Airport buzzed with a quiet kind of rhythm, the kind that belonged to early flights and tired goodbyes.
Fluorescent lights washed over the group of Spanish internationals clustered near the gate.
They were dressed down now—hoodies, caps, backpacks slung low.
The red kits were folded away, the rain-washed drama of the night a couple of days ago, already fading behind them like vapor trails.
Izan leaned against a column, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, a duffel bag at his feet.
Pedri wandered over first, a protein bar in one hand and a boarding pass in the other.
"Valencia, huh?"
"Yeah. Got so things I need to handle."
Pedri gave him a look—not prying, but knowing.
"Makes sense. Bit of peace before the Premier League circus again."
Before Izan could respond, a familiar voice cut in.
"More like love in the air," Lamine said, sauntering over with a grin that was way too wide for how early it was.
"You and Olivia… I saw the pics, bro."
Izan gave him a deadpan stare, but there was no heat behind it.
"Don't you have a Barça flight to catch?"
Lamine held up both hands, smirking.
"Hey, I'm just saying. If it walks like a couple, talks like a couple…"
Pedri laughed through a yawn, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
"Let him be. If I had soone like Olivia eting at ho, I wouldn't fly straight to London without her."
From behind, Alejandro Balde wheeled his suitcase over, nodding at Izan.
"So Valencia, yeah? You catching a private out of here?"
"Yeah," Izan said simply. "Flying out in an hour or so."
"Figures," Balde said with a shrug.
"Wish I could avoid the Barca schedule grind. We're back to training in forty-eight hours."
"You'll live," Cubarsí muttered, appearing at Balde's side with a tight-lipped smile.
"Barely."
Just behind them, Nico Williams adjusted the strap of his duffel and gave Izan a short nod.
" I'm off to Bilbao."
"Till we et Niconinho," Izan added, reminding Nico of the na he had gotten ever since he lost a bet to Yamal.
Nico gave a small, knowing grin. "Exactly."
"Guess we'll all see each other again next break," Pedri said, adjusting his backpack straps.
"Hopefully still in form," Balde added.
"Hopefully still walking," Lamine muttered, rubbing his lower back.
They laughed again, and the airport noise swallowed so of it, but not all.
Pedri reached out and gave Izan a quick, one-ard hug. "Take care, hermano. Enjoy ho."
"You too."
Lamine held out a fist, which Izan bumped. "Tell Olivia I said 'congrats.'"
"For what?"
"For surviving you."
Izan snorted, shaking his head.
One by one, the group peeled off toward their gates. Pedri and the Barcelona boys headed toward the terminal wing leading to their private charter while Nico veered off toward a regional terminal for Bilbao.
Izan stood a little longer, alone but not lonely, watching the people move around him. Another international break in the books. Another storm weathered.
And now, ho. Not London, not yet.
Valencia first.
.................
The car slowed to a smooth halt in front of a familiar house lined with white stone and frad by the drooping green arms of old Valencia trees.
The sun, climbing into the mid-morning sky, scattered warm light across the tiled roof, the sa roof Izan had stared at during countless sumr nights when he was younger.
The engine gave a soft hum before shutting off completely.
Izan leaned forward from the backseat, offering a soft smile to the driver.
"Thanks for the ride," he said, voice low but sincere.
The driver, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair, returned the smile through the rearview mirror.
"Welco ho, campeón."
Izan stepped out into the fresh air, feeling the early warmth of the Spanish day settle on his skin like a welco hug.
The house stood before him, just the sa as it had been when he left months ago, yet sohow different.
Maybe it was him who had changed.
He pulled the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder, held onto the luggage, and walked toward the front door.
Familiar stone steps. Familiar brown door.
He paused for a heartbeat, letting the mont settle, before reaching out and ringing the bell.
The chi echoed within the house.
For a second, silence.
Then—
The door swung open with sudden force, and standing there, frad by the sunlight pouring through the hallway behind her, was Komi.
Her mouth opened in a breathless gasp before she even fully registered him.
"Miura!" she shrieked, voice cracking with emotion.
Without hesitation, she threw herself into him, arms wrapping around his neck with all the pent-up love and worry she had harbored in his absence.
Izan laughed — a real, deep laugh that he hadn't realized he was holding in — and staggered slightly under her montum, his bag slipping from his shoulder.
It had only been a couple of months, but it felt like years.
"Hey, Mom," he whispered against her hair, heart swelling.
Behind her, another set of quick footsteps skidded to a halt near the doorway.
Hori, arms folded stubbornly across her chest, was trying her hardest to maintain an aloof, too-cool-for-this attitude.
She tapped her foot once. "Took you long enough."
Izan grinned over Komi's shoulder and leaned down slightly. "C're."
"I'm not a kid anymore," Hori said, but her voice wavered on the edge of betraying her act.
Izan didn't wait. In one smooth, practiced motion, he scooped her up into a tight hug, spinning her slightly.
Hori let out a shriek of her own — half protest, half pure joy — but she clung to him all the sa, her façade breaking completely as she laughed against his shoulder.
"You're still my little sister," Izan said, ruffling her hair.
"You're so annoying," she muttered, but she was smiling so brightly it almost hurt to look at her.
The three of them stood there for a long mont — Komi, Hori, Izan — tangled together at the threshold of ho, caught in a bubble that the outside world couldn't touch.
And then, predictably, the mont shattered.
"What's this noise so early in the morning?" ca Miranda's voice, sharp as ever from deeper inside the house.
She appeared in the hallway, hands on hips, hair still damp from a recent shower, dressed casually in a loose tee and jeans.
She spotted the trio and lifted a single brow in faux exasperation.
"Well, look who finally decided to rember he had a family," she teased, but her voice was warm beneath the sarcasm.
"We are both in london. Well I am most of the ti but you fled and left , a minor all by myself in a foreign land." Izan said as Komi pulled him inside with Hori crossing them to close the door.
But before she could, another figure stepped into the doorway, dragging a modest roller suitcase behind her, sunglasses perched on top of her head.
Olivia
"Oh look, the neighbor who used to play with when I was little," Hori said sarcastically with no intent of Malice in her voice.
Olivia's mouth curved in a soft smile as she got closer to Hori and nudged her slightly.
"Co on, Hori. Are you still mad about hogging your brother?" she said as she brought down her sunglasses.
She looked slightly travel-worn, the long flights evident in the faint dark circles under her eyes, but sohow, she still carried herself with that effortless grace that seed to have drawn everyone — and Izan most of all — to her.
Komi, still clutching Izan, finally noticed her and let out a squeal. "Olivia, darling! Co in, co in!"
The house quickly transford from a quiet morning into a lively, bustling reunion.
Izan helped carry Olivia's bag inside, setting it neatly near the hallway while Komi all but dragged Olivia into the kitchen, fussing over her like she was her daughter.
Miranda hovered nearby, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Hope you two don't get too cozy flying over together," she said with mock innocence, glancing aningfully between Izan and Olivia.
Komi, ever the vigilant mother, didn't miss a beat.
"Miranda!" she scolded, swatting her sharply on the back.
"Ow!" Miranda winced dramatically. "What? I didn't say anything bad—"
"You implied enough," Komi huffed, adjusting the kettle on the stove with unnecessary force.
Hori, watching the entire exchange, rolled her eyes with theatrical exasperation.
"Seriously, you guys? I'm fifteen. They literally teach us about sex ed at school."
Komi let out a scandalized sound, covering her ears.
"Not while we're eating, Hori!"
"We haven't even started eating yet," Hori said dryly, sauntering toward the table and plopping herself down.
Olivia, cheeks slightly pink but laughing all the sa, nudged Izan's side playfully.
Breakfast beca brunch beca an endless series of jokes, laughter, and catching up.
Komi laid out plates of jamón, cheeses, fresh fruits, crusty bread, and eggs cooked in the way Izan liked — slightly runny yolks, seasoned just right.
There was fresh orange juice, steaming coffee, and warm pastries pulled from the oven that made the whole house sll like heaven.
Stories flew back and forth across the table.
Hori complaining about school. Miranda updating them about her latest chaotic project.
Komi asking endless questions about Olivia's adjustnt to life with Izan in London while Miranda still sneaked in a few of her dirty-minded jokes.
And Izan, sitting there, soaking it all in, realizing just how much he had missed this chaos. This love.
The hours slipped by easily, the ho alive with the kind of buzz only a full house could create.
At so point, Komi pulled out old photo albums as she always did when she was over-excited, much to Izan's horror, and soon there were pictures scattered across the table.
So of Izan as a baby, other of Izan playing football barefoot in the garden and Izan making faces during Christmas dinners.
Ti moved lazily, like honey dripping from a spoon.
Here, in this house, with these people, Izan was just a son, a brother, a boyfriend.
And that was nice from all the fast-paced life he was now thrown into.
a/n; Got soti and decided to lighten my load for tomorrow. Have fun reading and I will see you in a bit.
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