For TheAsthete: Marc Bartra

Marc had always been a supportive father for your children. You and Marc had had two children together so far, with another on the way. Your oldest, Tomas or Tommy as you and Marc called him, had taken an immediate liking to football, much to his father's happiness. You currently stood on the sidelines of a miniature football pitch at a local park. You looked around for Marc as Tommy started to ask about his father. "Where's Papa?" he asked, staring up at you with the same eyes your husband had. The clear blue eyes were what had drawn you to Marc in the first place.

"He's on his way. Why don't you go warm up with your teammates? He'll be here shortly," you reassured the four year old. Tommy nodded, hugged your leg, and trotted over to grab a ball. You sighed as you watched him go. Although you knew Tommy loved that you watched all of his games, you also knew that your little boy wanted nothing more than to see his father cheering on the sidelines as he played the sport they both shared immense love for. Shifting your other child to your other hip, you took out your phone and dialed Marc's phone number.

"Has the game started yet?" came Marc's immediate response.

"No, they're warming up. It's going to start in ten minutes, where are you?"

"Practice went late and there's an accident which back up traffic," Marc sighed, obviously frustrated. "How's Tommy?"

"He wants his father on the sidelines right now, Marc," you replied, looking over at Tommy, who dribbled up and down the field with his friends. He looked over at you, hope written across his features. When he didn't see his father, his shoulders slumped and he turned his attention back to the ball. "I swear to God Marc Bartra, you better get here and put that smile back on our son's face or so help me," you warned, bouncing your other child.

"Read you loud and clear," Marc said before the audible sound of a car horn echoed through the connection.

"What was that?"

"Just some idiots who don't know how to drive." Seeing the kids conjugate around their respective coaches, you sighed deeply.

"The game's about to start," you told Marc. He cursed on the other end.

"Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can," Marc responded. You hung up, and set your other child on the ground, crossing your arms over your chest. Tommy ran onto the field, in his favorite position, center back, even though there was no real structure to pee wee football. The coaches blew a whistle and their little legs started to run around.

You cheered as Tommy got the ball and passed it up to a teammate. He glanced over at you, obviously disappointed that Marc wasn't here yet. You sighed, looking around to see if your husband was anywhere in sight. He wasn't and you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. Your other child was occupied with the grass, allowing you to focus solely on Tommy. Hearing loud footsteps behind you, you turned around to see your husband sprinting over to you.

"Did I miss much?" he huffed, slightly out of breath.

"Only about ten minutes," you replied, grabbing the grass out of your other child's hand before he could put it into his mouth. Tommy got the ball and ran up the field.

"Go Tommy!" you husband shouted, clapping. Tommy passed the ball before looking over at his father, a large smile on his face. "Focus on the game!" Marc called back as a kid ran past a distracted Tommy with the ball. Tommy ran after him, a newfound stride letting him catch up to the kid in record time. You cheered with your husband after Tommy recovered.

"You didn't royally screw up, Bartra. Impressive," you whispered to your husband, your eyes still on the game.

"You have no faith in me," Marc teased, eyes shifting down to your son on the ground.

"And this one needs to stop eating grass," he smiled, picking up your other son from the ground and picking the pieces of grass out of his hands. You smiled and turned to the field after half time was called. Tommy ran over. You handed him his water bottle.

"You played great, Tommy," you patted your son's head.

"Thanks," he said, out of breath. "When did you get here? How much of the game did you see?" Tommy asked his father.

"I saw enough to know that Barcelona will have an awesome center back in twenty years," your husband smiled, bending down to your son's level. The two whispered things back and forth that you couldn't hear but it made Tommy smile widely so you decided to not question it. The coaches called back the players and Tommy ran back to the field. You nudged your husband.

"You are his idol, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You just being here and watching Tommy means the world to him. So thanks for making our son so happy, Marc," you said, resting your head on his broad shoulder. Your other son clapped for Tommy as he ran past, pulling you and Marc back towards the game. You winced when Tommy headed the ball. "I wish he wouldn't do that."

"It's a part of football," Marc waved off.

"It'll give him a concussion," you argued.

"Watch out, Mama's mother hen feathers are peaking out," Marc jokingly warned your other son.

"I'm his mother, I'm supposed to worry about him," you pointed out.

"He's fine," Marc told you. The game ended shortly afterwards. Tommy's team had won. Speak of the devil, Tommy ran over to you and Marc. "Great job, buddy," Marc smiled down at Tommy.

"Thanks Papa," Tommy replied. Your small family walked back to the car. You had been dropped off here by one of your coworkers so Marc's car was the only one there for the four of you. Buckling your sons into the backseat, you sat in the passenger's seat. Marc started the car and drove home. Looking back in the rearview mirror, Marc smiled at the sight of your two boys asleep in the back seat.